


Pretty Winchester

by SoulSurvivor_36



Category: Pretty Woman (1990), Supernatural
Genre: A lot of sex, Alternate Universe - Crack, Alternate Universe - Pretty Woman Fusion, Comfort, Destiel Subtext, Episode: s04e15 Death Takes a Holiday, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Homophobic Language, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Multi, Openly Bisexual Dean Winchester, Prostitution, Sexist Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-30
Updated: 2019-12-26
Packaged: 2020-11-08 14:33:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 57,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20837066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoulSurvivor_36/pseuds/SoulSurvivor_36
Summary: Dean Winchester came to Hollywood chasing a dream.  He quickly discovered that dreams were not all they were cracked up to be.  With the help of a street hooker named Trickster, Tricks for short, Dean quickly learned the trade in order to survive.  Little did he know that the blonde in the Lamborghini Asterion would do much more for him than line his pockets with $$$.





	1. Preface

**Author's Note:**

> Well hey there brave, curious fan fiction enthusiast!
> 
> So this is my 3rd Movie Xover for the Fic Facer$ 2019 auction and check out the awesome stuff my bidder's got lined up for ALL our enjoyment:
> 
> Movie: Pretty Woman (1990)  
Rating: NC-17 (ooooh baby, it's gonna get EXPLICIT UP IN HERE!)  
Character cast: Season 4  
Main character: Dean Winchester  
Love interest: Author's choice (I picked my fav ship... Jo Harvelle FTW, but no worries... see next option)  
Relationship tags: Bisexual Dean (Aaaaaw yeah)  
Sexual content: Explicit  
Character awareness: Full Movie AU  
Genre: Original movie genre (Rom)
> 
> If all of this sounds like the most amazing fucking thing ever (Talk about coming up with fun ideas at Friday night karaoke with good friends) then stay tuned. I won't be posting this one as I go, so keep checking in, or simply subscribe to get an update when I do post... I expect something great by Christmas.
> 
> Til then Facers!
> 
> ::UPDATE:: IT'S DONE!!!!! I hope y'all enjoy it.
> 
> Cheers!
> 
> ~SoulSurvivor_36

"What's your dream?"


	2. Joanna

When she smiled, it could light up a room brighter than a sunny January day in Kansas. Its radiance would bounce around, seeking out dark and tired spots in people’s hearts and warm them up. Her smile was more contagious than the flu and sweeter than hot chocolate topped with marshmallows. It was the kind of smile you wanted to curl up with in front of the warm fireplace and make slow, sweet love to.

When she smiled.

This wasn’t Kansas, and Joanna Harvelle was not a woman whose life had taught her that smiling was an option when dealing with the sharks, piranhas and crocodiles of the NY business world. The waters of that world were treacherous, one false move, one wrong deal and you’d end up chewed up, spit out and left to dry up on the beach.

Joanna not only swam the waters deftly, she dominated the sea. Men whispered her name in hushed reverence or disdain when she strolled into a boardroom meeting standing atop her four-inch stilettos and swathed in her expensive name brand custom-tailored power suits. She had built up her reputation from being nobody to being a force to be reckoned with and her sharp heartless business savvy had earned her equal parts respect and abhorrence from the people around her. But not love.

The men in her life sought to own her, dominate her and crush her, not particularly conducive to a relationship. As she put the cellphone back in her skirt’s hidden pocket, she replayed the argument she had just had; the latest in a long line of arguments that seemed to play on repeat throughout all her relationships like the needle of a record player that gets caught in a nicked groove somewhere and can’t get out of its loop. She had been vulnerable she realized, and as such had left the door wide open for a kill shot.

_“You know I always feel left out at those events, Joanna. You’re off talking business in a language no one can keep up with, while I end up shunted off to the side with the fucking Stepford wives like I’m no better than a trophy lay. It’s humiliating.”_

_“What would you have me do? I need you here, Brandon. This is a huge deal I’m closing.”_

_“You’ve never needed me to close a deal. You can do what you do whether I’m there or not.”_

_“That’s not the point. You know how people talk at the social gatherings. They are just as important in the negotiation as what happens in the boardroom.”_

_“What you’re saying is that all you care about is your reputation and your job.”_

_“And what about your own career? You know everyone goes to these things; how many business deals have you made through my contacts?”_

_“I have my own engagements here, Joanna. Work that needs my attention, right now. I’m sorry, but I can’t just drop everything and fly across the country just because it looks bad for you if I don’t.”_

_“What you mean is, you can’t pull your dick out of my personal assistant long enough to fucking be with the woman who keeps a roof over your goddamn head.”_

_“Maybe I can’t. Maybe I’m tired of your cold fucking cunt.”_

_“Goodbye, Brandon. I expect to not see you when I get back.”_

_“Don’t worry. You won’t.”_

Joanna stood on the second-floor mezzanine overlooking the choppy waters of the party below. It was a sunny Sunday afternoon and the light was streaming in through the two-floor panel windows that made the stark white décor of the house look like the pristine interior of the most sophisticated fishbowl. Everywhere you looked there were suits. Suits and their wives; monochromatic splotches of all possible shades of grey and subdued neutral tones of yellows and pinks that looked washed out in the too stark lighting – hazy colours like a sunset drowning in LA smog. Her own charcoal Chanel cocktail dress was a testament to the two worlds she was straddling: simple and conservative, the hemline less than an inch above the knee and enough flare to not be clingy, but not so much that it could be considered extravagant – feminine but not one of the wives.

She watched as guests gravitated in small clusters that were constantly shifting and changing with people adding themselves into conversations and others leaving to join another, maybe to relay an interesting tidbit that they had learned and could use for their own gain as leverage in the game of business politics. Platters of food were all laid out on long tables so the guests could easily refill their miniature plates or hover the bite-sized food over limp napkins: puffed pastries and cocktail sausages and caviar and tartar and little powdered donuts that everyone avoided so they wouldn’t end up with white smeared on their perfectly composed faces. Servers navigated the room deftly handing out champagne flutes and glasses of wine and collecting empty glassware as the party slowly got louder and passion flared encouraged by the alcohol. Joanna knew that this was one of Zacharia’s favourite tricks. Feed them well, water the weak, grease the wheel, and all sorts of secrets would come tumbling out. Fishing he called it. Which was why Joanna never drank a drop at these parties.

She stood on the second-floor mezzanine overlooking the activity below and a single, warm tear broke free of her lashes and made its way down her cheek. She quickly reached up and wiped the offending dampness away before it could mar her carefully applied make up, and before Zach could see her weakness. She spotted him in the crowd and though her eyes had dried quickly, she could feel her self-control slipping, her body trembling; it was too subtle for most to even notice, but she knew, and that would affect her focus and her judgement. He had that hungry look in his eye as he stared up at her, that insipid, calculating smile on his face like he knew that in that moment she was weak. If there was one all important thing she had learned over the years, it was this: if you bleed, you get the fuck out of the water.

She picked up her Prada satchel from where she had left it on one of the padded leather armchairs on the mezzanine and made her way down into the crowd.

“Ms. Harvelle, I’d like to introduce myself.”

“And why would you want to do that?”

“Uh… Zachariah said I should. He thought I could be of assistance to you.”

Joanna continued to walk, painfully aware of how this newcomer in the low-end Harry Rosen suit was towering over her. “How did we open on the market?”

“Uh…”

“Don’t stammer. Speak clearly. Time is money and you’re wasting mine.”

“The market hasn’t opened yet.”

Joanna stopped and turned to look at the initiate standing before her. She paused long enough to watch him shrink like a testicle exposed to the frigid Pacific waters. She kept her back straight, shoulders back and she had become a mountainous wave, cresting and ready to crash down. She didn’t even bother looking at her watch. “The Tokyo Exchange opened fifteen minutes ago. Next time you want to waste my time you better have your shit together or you’ll be out on your ass.”

She didn’t wait for a response before turning around and shaking the hands of some of the hundreds of faces, some familiar and some she’d only heard of through the various communications from the past couple months as she worked the acquisition from the east coast. She exchanged basic pleasantries with the ones she knew, and polite smiles with those she didn’t as she made for the front door and her escape hatch.

As she walked out onto the front terrace, Zachariah’s hired help handling the door for her, she let out a frustrated sigh looking over the busy front lawns and the cars all Tetris-ed together in an impossible web of chaos. A slim man with a trim brown beard and startling blue eyes wearing a grey uniform with red trim and a matching driving cap spotted her and he looked around at the sleek black town car she had commissioned from the hotel to take care of her transportation for the week. Joanna followed his gaze and even she could see that getting the car out of its snug parking would be impossible for some time, even if they did manage to move the correct configuration of cars enough to get to it. The driver pursed his lips, making them disappear in the thick of his beard and he looked genuinely pained at the circumstances.

Joanna shook her head, she understood it was not his fault, but she also felt the growing need to get the hell out of there. She turned to look at the car behind her. It was a gawdy sports car that looked like its slate grey body had been polished and shined to perfection every day the previous week in preparation to be the showcase jewel of the parking. Zach could have put it away, kept it out of harm’s way in one of the garages, but his pride had made him leave it out for his business rivals to gawk and fawn over. Joanna knew nothing of cars and so was completely unimpressed by this monstrosity of sleek modern lines. What she did know though, was that Zach’s car was the only one not blocked.

She gestured to the two valets standing by the mounted key box. They looked at her in confusion and she widened her eyes. “Keys,” she said.

The valets turned and started foraging through the various keys looking at the tags and yammering quickly in a foreign language. Joanna was losing her patience. She just wanted to get out of there and back to her hotel where she could get to work and forget about Brandon moving his things out of her apartment. She expected he would be taking some of her things too in the process, but she really didn’t care. She could replace anything he chose to walk away with.

From behind her, the door opened again.

“Joanna,” said the somewhat nasal voice of her lawyer and host, “Leaving already?”

“Zach, do you have your keys?” Joanna asked him, without turning around.

“My keys? Why?”

“The car’s stuck back there somewhere and it’s going to take them an hour just to get it out.”

“So… You want to take my car?”

“Give me the keys.”

“This is a high-performance sports transmission… Do you even know how to…?” Joanna looked up at him and stared daggers at him as he looked back and forth between her and the car. “Damnit,” he mumbled under his breath as he pulled something out of his pocket that looked more like a fridge magnet than a key. He walked up to her and dropped it into her outstretched hand. She looked it over quickly, looking for a button to push but found only the smooth black surface and the steel inlay of the bull logo. Zach walked around her and pressed a nearly invisible button on the frame of the window just behind the driver’s door and it popped open. He pulled it open completely and she sat herself down gracefully in the white and red leather seat, pretending that she had figured out the key while looking all around the dash for a clue. Zachariah hemmed and hawed about the new car and just getting it waxed and worrying that she would damage it somehow. Her eyes finally landed on the buttons on the steering wheel. None of them looked like they would start a car, so she pushed the one with the vertical line and miraculously the car roared to life. She hid her satisfied smirk when she looked up at Zachariah leaning in the door and looking down at her.

“Goodbye, Zach,” she said as she reached for the handle. He moved away and she pulled the door closed.

She could barely reach the pedals, but she pressed her black Jimmy Choo onto the gas and the car lurched forward with a purr and rolled down the driveway onto the road.


	3. Dean

A thin sheen of sweat broke out on Dean’s face as he rocked his hips, pumping into Jimmy’s ass, being sure to hit that sweet spot with every thrust. He kept a close eye on the man’s face, looking for the tell-tale signs that he was close to his release. Jimmy was one of his easier regulars: nothing too kinky, some role playing and bottom penetration. He was just looking for some straight-forward relief from his mundane, heterosexual life. This was probably the wildest he ever got. Still, he was one of Dean’s favourites. Physical attraction was not a must in Dean’s line of work, but it sure made the time fly by faster when he had something nice to look at, and Jimmy’s black hair and wide blue eyes, strong jaw and gym fit body certainly fit the bill.

Jimmy gasped and moaned under him and Dean kept up his rhythm while he slowly moved his hand down the inside of his client’s leg. As he reached his swollen cock, he paused, allowing himself a moment to indulge in watching his own cock moving in and out of the man’s ass. He looked up, dragging his eyes slowly over Jimmy’s body, watching his abs contract as he again hit that sweet spot. The man could writhe like no one’s business, Dean found himself contemplating, a smile tugging at his lips. Jimmy was watching him through half-lidded eyes, Dean realized, and he continued his languid inspection of the man’s body, the pretend infatuation all part of the fantasy he was paid to enact. He finally brought his eyes up to meet his and the man’s chest hitched a little and Dean pretended to startle, like he hadn’t known Jimmy was watching him. He bent forward, slowing his thrusts a moment as he pressed his face to Jimmy’s straining neck to suckle kisses into the skin, but not hard enough to leave any traces; what would the missus think?

Dean wrapped his hand around the man’s cock, pressed between their bodies and Jimmy sighed against him. He knew Jimmy didn’t need much to release once he got him primed like this and he used the friction of their rocking bodies to stimulate and trigger his orgasm. Jimmy groaned as his sperm spilled out of him, his eyes squeezed shut in ecstasy. Dean continued to rock against him, slowing his movements as Jimmy came back down. He had a satiated smile on his face: another satisfied customer.

Dean straightened up and pulled out completely, turning to sit on the edge of the cheap motel bed to remove the empty condom and then his cock ring. He felt Jimmy shift on the bed behind him and turned his head slightly as strong arms wrapped around his shoulders from behind.

“Oh. No round two?” the man asked, looking down at his lap and already softening cock.

“You can’t afford it,” Dean said, officialising the end of their hour and the fantasy. He glanced at the weird Art Deco clock on the wall by the door. “Besides, the wife and kid are gonna wonder where you are.” He leaned forward to drop the used condom in the trash bin by the head of the bed.

Jimmy wasn’t done with his fantasy though and he refused to let him go. “One day, we’re going to get out of here. You an’ me. Just blow this stupid town.”

“Oh, baby,” Dean said, turning in the man’s arms and laying his hand on his shadowed jaw. “That, you definitely can’t afford.”

He pecked him on the cheek, ignoring the man’s attempt to break the rules, then stood up. He stretched his long limbs, his arched back cracking gloriously, before he marched into the bathroom to clean up at the sink. It was going on 8 p.m. and he had to go meet up with Tricks on the Boulevard. Maybe he’d get lucky and land a fresh buck, or maybe even a doe. Even a couple of quick blow jobs in Whore’s Alley would help. They could use the rent money.

Jimmy walked in behind him and started the water in the shower. “Sure you don’t want to join me?” he asked him.

Dean frowned, wondering if maybe the man was buying into the fantasy a little too much tonight. But that was hardly his problem. As long as he got paid, what did it matter what was going on in the client’s head? He was no therapist.

“I gotta run. I’ll see you next week.”

Jimmy nodded his head and stepped into the shower, disappearing behind the curtain. Dean watched the curtain for a second, a little concerned about Jimmy’s growing attachment to him, but then he remembered the bright smile that had lit up the man’s face as he talked about his family following one of their first appointments. He loved his family, that much was clear. He would never intentionally hurt them.

Dean walked back into the room and collected his things, throwing on his clothes hurriedly. He was going for something a little different tonight: jean shorts cut off just below his ass, jean vest, cowboy boots he had found at a thrift shop and a cowboy hat. Maybe he’d get a couple cowboys, homesick for a little country. Dean had to admit he liked running his hand in his long hair and setting the hat to hold it in place. He imagined himself in the middle of his favourite westerns, high noon, standing at one end of a clapboard town’s only muddy street, ready to face off with Wild Bill Hickok or Clay Allison. Dean glanced down at himself, contracting his abs a moment and musing that he’d probably be wearing more clothes though. He stuck his feet into his boots, rearranging his stock of condoms, taking quick inventory at the same time and slipping his ring in the plastic baggy he used to keep it clean between clients. He stuffed Jimmy’s money in his other boot, experience having taught him that it was a much safer place for it than in his pockets. He did transfer one of the ten-dollar bills to the inside pocket of his jean vest though, already starting to salivate as he thought about buying himself some food. “Pie,” he said to himself, allowing his mind to fantasize about the sweet frivolity.

He walked out of the motel room and made his way to the sidewalk, turning his feet towards Hollywood Blvd to meet up with Tricks. He tipped his hat at a woman with greying hair and a sour face who was glaring at him, sending her rushing in the other direction with a conceited huff. As he cut through an alley that would land him right near his “office,” he made quick eye contact with Ruby who had her lips wrapped around a client’s cock, his large hand in her mahogany hair. She blinked once, letting him know everything was fine and Dean kept going without breaking his stride.

He reached his and Tricks’ usual spot, the stretch of boulevard Trickster had claimed for himself, clawing and fighting with the other sex workers for the turf, for this one spot that he had declared was the best to ply his trade. Dean had always been confused by this, figuring that with the predominance of women in the field, Trickster offered a much rarer service to the men and women of West Hollywood, and the visitors from beyond, that would catch client attention no matter where he set up shop. But he insisted on this one particular stretch of sidewalk. A stretch of sidewalk that was in fact currently not occupied by the smaller man.

Dean flicked his hat a little higher on his head as he turned and looked up and down for his roommate and mentor. He supposed that he could be with a client, but as his eyes landed on the club down the block and across the street, he figured he was more likely to find him there getting high than in someone’s bed getting paid. “Fuck,” Dean huffed as he looked both ways and jay walked across the wide road, getting a few generous honks and some whistling from the passing cars.

The Hell Hole was a dance club where any given night, it would be packed tight with writhing bodies pressed together in a mass of sweat and limbs. He’d picked up his fair share of clients: high on drugs and music and low on inhibitions, willing to pay for a bite of the forbidden fruit or a skilled suck. That was before Alastair had claimed the territory for himself. He was the reigning drug dealer of the area. Dean suspected that if somebody dug deep enough, they’d find that he was the de facto owner of the Hell Hole, which he used as a front for his true profit market: pills. Ecstasy, speed, valium – highs and lows, floating on clouds or moving through molasses: no matter your needs, wants, desires, Alastair had you covered. But the man wasn’t content making his huge profits from selling to the club goers, he had decided that all sex trade happening in his club was part of his business and he would take 50 percent of the money. Dean and Trickster had moved their shop to the corner across the street and settled for picking off the ones who stumbled out.

Working the street though meant a different kind of risk, one that had made working the club for Alastair increasingly tempting, though Dean stood firm in his belief that they could take care of themselves. Car traffic made controlling sales much more difficult. More than once he’d watched Tricks get into a car only to reappear at home beaten and bruised. Dean would nurse him back with cold compresses and hot soup. He’d been lucky himself so far. Other than Lilith, whose kicks involved silk restraints, sharp stilettos, a cat-o-nine tails and thin razor blades, the worst abuse he ever got was some name calling and a few dine-and-dashers who would get off and run out without paying. Maybe it was Trickster’s more willowy frame that made him a target. Or perhaps the clientele that gravitated towards his particular brand of cross-dressing also had a proclivity for violence.

Dean pulled open the club’s heavy door and walked through the dark entrance towards the bar at the back. The dance floor was mostly empty even though the music was already booming. The base was boosted so hard that he could feel it in his balls. He leaned up against the bar and the tall, long-haired bartender turned to look at him, his eyebrows raised in a question.

“Hey, Sam. You seen Trickster tonight?”

“Uh, yeah. Upstairs.”

Dean tried not to cringe openly as he thanked him and turned towards the metal stairs that led to the second-floor mezzanine: Alastair’s domain. There were a few small tables set away from the railing so the dealer could keep an eye on the business below but keep his privacy. There were also a few booths in the back with pleather seats and tables like in a restaurant, only here, what you could order up came in pills or flesh.

“Dean,” called out the smooth, nasal voice of the man who ran the show. “How nice of you to drop by.”

“Alastair,” Dean said curtly as a greeting. “I’m looking for Tickster, you seen him?”

“Dean, Dean, Dean… Don’t worry about Tricksie. He’s in good hands.”

The man waved lazily behind him and Dean looked towards one of the booths where he could see Tricks animatedly talking to the people gathered close together, his hands gesticulating with the surplus of energy. Dean felt the cool hand on his thigh and his muscles twitched, though he didn’t startle away. He looked back at Alastair who was petting him appreciatively.

“I wish you’d come work for me, Dean. I have a few friends who would love to meet you.”

Though the words seemed innocuous, Alastair radiated violence in every soft-spoken syllable and Dean shuddered on the inside thinking about the man’s “friends.” Simple, everyday words were like promises of sadism and torture when they came out of the otherwise inconspicuous man’s mouth. He was a demon in a pediatrician’s suit.

“Pass,” Dean said, moving away from his unwelcome touch and starting for the corner booth to get Trickster out of there.

“He’s mine now, you know.”

“Like hell, he is,” Dean growled, turning back towards Alastair and the various hangers on who populated his table. One of them started laughing, high as a kite with a snapped string.

“He’s racked up quite the debt, your sweet little bottom.” Dean glared at him. Trickster wasn’t his bottom, or his sub. They were just roommates, but he wasn’t going to give any more information to the manipulating, asshole; let him think what he wanted. “I offered to let him work it off. I know a few people who would love a sweet, submissive creature like him.”

“How much is the debt?”

“More than you have, Dean. Unless of course you want to take the deal for him. Lilith likes you. And she’s got a few friends too who wouldn’t mind a taste of your… product.”

“Fuck you, Alastair.”

In a few quick strides of his long legs, Dean was standing by the table where Tricks was.

“Dean! Oh, man, am I happy to see you, buddy! You have GOT to try some of this shit, I can hear colours man, and boy, let me tell you, purple? Is a fucking cunt.”

“Time to go, come on.” Tricks started to protest, looking around at the other people at his table. “Don’t make me drag you out of here, Tricks.”

“You’re no fun,” he mumbled as he climbed up on the seat and walked across the tabletop, making the golden fringe of his 20’s style flappers dress shimmy and shimmer. He jumped down, only barely wobbling perched atop his 5-inch platform shoes. Dean dragged him around by the shoulders pointing him towards the stairs and giving him a shove to get moving. He wanted to get the fuck out of that place, and the faster the better. As they passed Alastair again on their way out, the man stood and blocked his path, putting his long-fingered hand on Dean’s bare torso. Dean looked up at the towering man. He had frightening proportions, though his usual casual disposition hid it well. If he wanted to, he could really fuck him up. Dean hoped the man couldn’t read his thoughts on his face. He ground his teeth and glared.

“The only clients you’re taking tonight, are the ones I give you. You got that, Dean?”

“I’m not working for you, and you are not my pimp. Get the fuck out of my way, asshole. You’ll get your money.”

“I’m going to get it either way. Whether you pay it in cash, or I take it out of Trickster’s ass. I own you both.”

“No one owns me, you son of a bitch.”

Dean moved past Alastair and followed Trickster down the stairs and back out into the cooler evening air.


	4. Meet Cute

The sun had set completely, and the dark street was lit up neon bright by the multi-coloured lights of the various signs along the boulevard advertising the services and wares to be found inside the buildings that were jammed packed together along the street: clubs and stores that sold souvenirs and poorly camouflaged drug ware and paraphernalia, shady clubs labeled XXX, convenience stores behind metal grills, and fast food joints.

Dean was trying very hard to keep his cool as he and Trickster reached their spot. He counted steps, and read signs on shops, and named the years and models of the cars that drove by; anything to distract his brain from the anger that had swollen up inside him and to drown out his despair at the situation. He could be as mad as he wanted at Trickster for spending all their money on drugs, but it wouldn’t change their current financial situation.

“I am so hungry. I could totally go for like a double burger combo with a side of cherry pie.”

“You should’ve thought about that before blowing all our money on fucking pills, T.”

Trickster squirmed where he was leaning back against the lamp post nonchalantly. “I needed my candies, Dean.”

“Yeah? How badly do you want it exactly? Because that asshole in there says he owns you. How much do you owe him?”

“It’s nothing.” Dean turned and glared at him from under the rim of his cowboy hat. “Maybe just a couple.”

“Hundred?”

“Thousand.”

“How many is a couple exactly?”

“Like, three …or five maybe.”

“Are you fucking kidding me? That’s rent until Christmas! We’re barely making ends meet now. Son of a bitch!”

“I’m sorry, Dean. I think I lost control at some point.”

“You think? Goddamnit, Tricks.”

Dean turned his back on him and leaned his elbows on the newspaper box, trying very hard to think of something different than choking his roommate to death.

“You know,” ventured Trickster, “maybe we should take Alastair up on his offer. He likes you. If we work for him, we’re back in the club, off the street, and getting his high roller friends for customers. We could be rolling in it, Dean.”

“You mean rolling in bandages and plaster. I’m not working for that sadistic freak in there. And I’m not letting you do it either: I don’t want to see the headline in the paper. And I won’t be someone’s slave. We say who, we say what and we say how much. You taught me that.”

“Who. What. How much,” Tricks repeated quietly.

Dean turned his head to look at him. The man was looking frail in his glittery thrift store flapper dress, matching sequined headband holding back his wavy sable hair. As he stared at the sidewalk, there was a distance in his eyes that hadn’t been there when Dean had first met him. He had been a force to reckon with back then: assertive, funny and in control. His extreme submissiveness now would only attract trouble he feared.

A car slowed down, pulling Dean out of his thoughts. Time to get to work.

“Hey sweetheart,” called a voice from the car as it drew up to them. Trickster was already strutting up closer.

“Hey sugar, you looking for a good time?” he asked.

“Yeah, I got a big fat one I wanna stick up your ass!” called out a voice from the back seat, the man sitting in the passenger’s seat suddenly cracking into a wide toothy grin.

Alarm bells went off in Dean’s head and he reached out to grab Trickster’s arm before he could get any closer to the car.

“Fucking fags!” the person in the backseat yelled at them as the car’s tires suddenly squealed to speed away. Dean stepped out of the way just in time to avoid the fast food soda cup the assholes laughing it up in the car had thrown at him. He raised his hand in the air, flipping off the taillights.

“Fucking asshats!”

He turned back to Trickster who was looking at the soda cup like he had just barely escaped a grenade. There was something in his eyes that worried Dean. He was looking so lost, so fragile. He should not be working the streets like that. Dean reached into his vest pocket and pulled out the ten-dollar bill he had been keeping to buy himself some dinner later and held it out to Trickster. “Why don’t you go buy yourself a pizza, T. Go home. I got the corner covered tonight.”

Trickster stared at the money in Dean’s hand hungrily, but made no move to take it from him, struggling with himself. Dean finally just grabbed his hand and curled the man’s fingers around the folded bill.

The sound of tires screeching around the corner accompanied by the roar of an engine made them both look up and gawp at the sleek grey car that was careening and jerking left and right and headed right for them. It veered to the side at the last minute and came to a full dead stop at an angle to the sidewalk a couple car lengths away.

“Holy shit, that’s a Lamborghini Asterion,” Dean exclaimed. “There’s only like a few of these in the world, what the hell is this pretentious prick doing driving it in West Hollywood?”

“Who cares, man? That’s fucking rent.”

“Wait, what? You wanna try to fucking sell to a guy like that?”

“Oh hell no. You are. That’s your client right there.” Dean turned to look at him with wide eyes. “Don’t give me that look, princess, you’re looking hot tonight. Go parade that fine ass in his face. Go!”

Trickster swung his arm and slapped him on the ass loudly, spurring him on to start walking towards the car. Dean pulled his hat a little lower on his forehead and hooked his thumbs in his belt loops, pulling the edge of the jean fabric down to reveal the jut of his hip bone, hinting at his love line. He would have to pull out all the stops for this one. He got closer to the car, his eyes distractedly glancing through the honeycomb-like back window that gave him a view of the engine. His mind was running the specs and he tried to shut it down so he could focus on selling himself to whoever was behind the wheel. Suddenly, the gas door popped open and he frowned at it. The hood at the front end of the car popped open too and he looked that way distractedly. What was this dude playing at? He pressed the gas cover closed just as the driver’s door opened. The stiletto-clad foot connected to the shapely calf caught him off-guard and he watched, stunned, as the woman gracefully unfolded herself from the car seat and stood beside the Italian muscle. Dean quickly switched mode; the client profile completely different for a doe. He tried to size her up as she moved to the front of the car, her movements purposeful and confident. This was a woman in control.

The women who generally pulled up to his corner like this were generally older, and not necessarily looking for sex, per se. Often it seemed like what they wanted was company, or attention. He would make these women feel attractive, desired. Then, there were the ones looking for something more exotic than their respectable partners could provide, like Lilith, who got off on torturing him slowly until he came. Her kink was control. And looking at the way this woman was handling herself, he figured she would be from the later category. Maybe she had an old rich husband with a wrinkly limp dick and a trophy wife he couldn’t fuck.

But what the hell was someone like that doing looking for her kicks on Hollywood Blvd?

Dean was distracted away from his contemplations as he made it around to the front of the car and heard her swearing a blue streak under her breath as she struggled with trying to open the front end of the car. She had released the hatch, but clearly didn’t realize there was a secondary, security latch that needed releasing before she could get to the contents of the trunk. He tried to hide his surprised smile. He wondered at the pleasant feeling pooling in his gut as he looked at her. “Need a hand?”

Joanna looked up at the man who had accosted her, and she startled slightly, momentarily losing some of her composure, as she took in the man’s strange attire… or lack thereof. She watched as he touched a finger to the brim of his hat and popped his hip like a cowboy in a John Wayne movie, except she’d never seen a cowboy showing so much skin.

“I’m fine, thanks,” she said, dismissing him and returning to trying to work open the stupid, goddamn engine hood. It was open, she could see that: the groove no longer smoothly aligned with the rest of the car’s lines. So why couldn’t she get it to open?

“Let me,” the man said, his voice a pleasant timbre with just enough roughness in his throat to sound deeply masculine.

He moved into her space, his jean clad hip would have bumped against her if she hadn’t side-stepped just enough for it not to… and not an inch further. She straightened up and crossed her arms on her chest, refusing to be shunted aside like a useless doll. She watched him bend down, his fingers slipping in the groove of the hood. She couldn’t see his face under the cowboy hat, her eyes took in his fit body though, her mind instantly jumping to models in magazines selling Calvin Klein underwear… only judging from how low his shorts were sitting on his hip, it looked like this guy wasn’t wearing any underwear at all.

She reigned in her thoughts, chastising herself for the direction they had gone in. She didn’t have time to indulge in that kind of thinking. She just wanted to get back to the hotel and work on the deal. There was so much left to work out, and she simply did not trust that her team of lawyers and business partners would handle the details correctly.

The man’s fingers must’ve done something magical, because suddenly the metal hood was open, held up at arm’s length by him. Joanna looked down, but instead of seeing the expected engine, she found a clean, and empty, fabric-lined interior.

“So… Were you hoping to kidnap someone? Why are we looking at an empty trunk?”

Joanna’s frown disappeared and she ground her teeth as she reached up and yanked the hatch out of his hand and slammed it shut again. She started walking back towards the driver’s door.

“I’m just trying to help you out, here. Clearly you’re not where you want to be.”

“Excuse me?” Joanna spun on her heels to glare at him. She underestimated his height and ended up glaring at his chin before she adjusted and looked up slowly, taking in his rosy plump lips, his boyish freckles and finally his large green eyes that were intensely focused on her.

“I just meant that I don’t usually have $800,000 cars pulling up to my office. Especially not one driven by a woman as pretty as you. So I figure, there has to be something wrong, or else you wouldn’t have stopped here.”

Joanna had managed to pull the driver’s door open again, and the man was leaning his crossed arms on the top of it, the muscles under his bare skin made obvious. “I really don’t need any help. So you can go ahead and get back to minding your own business.”

“But this is my business. You stepped into my office. So why don’t you tell me what seems to be the problem, and I can go ahead and offer my services—"

“Swear to God, if you call me ma’am…”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, darlin’.” The man winked. He full on, unabashedly, fucking winked at her. She was about to start yelling at him, her frustration at the situation, the car, the fucking prick Brandon, all of it, clawing at her skin to get out and here was a conveniently chauvinistic male for her to take all her anger out on just asking for it. She opened her mouth to express her choice words when his entire demeanour changed suddenly. He turned his head to the side, looking at something across the street, and his casual easy-going posture turned rigid and square. “You should go now.”

“Stop telling me what to do.”

“Seriously. Right here, right now is not somewhere you should be.”

He turned his head again and looked at her, the concern in his face genuine. He was worried. About her. Why? Joanna looked around his broad shoulders at the supposed threat and her stomach turned. There was a group of people gathered across the street and staring at them. From the clothes they were wearing, she guessed that they were part of a street gang, and she agreed with the scantily clad cowboy: she should not be there.

Something in her brain stopped working though as she looked at Zachariah’s car, and then down at herself in her stupid party dress and then at the steering wheel with all its buttons that she just couldn’t figure out and she began to feel the innate panic rise, the fears ingrained in her by a society of violent men surfacing as the people across the street took the first threatening steps from the curb to the pavement, heading her way. Heading FOR her. How was she supposed to get away in a car that she just couldn’t figure out.

“Seriously, get in the car, and get out of here.”

She looked up at him and then to the advancing threat and suddenly bitterly wished she hadn’t taken off so brashly without her town car and armed driver. She couldn’t even remember what she had done to get it out of park last time.

“I can’t drive,” she told him.

“Well, that was pretty obvious from the way you tore around the corner earlier, but you seriously need to go. Now.”

She could hear them now. The people cat-calling and jeering as they got closer. She stammered out again, that she couldn’t do it.

She was looking back and forth between Alastair’s goons and the damn car and Dean’s ears were full of their jeers and promises of pain and torture if he dared to take a client. And she was not fucking moving. He would have to do something, or she would be making the 11 o’clock news.

“For fuck’s sake. Get in,” he said as he moved around the open door and sat down, the Italian leather hugging his ass like the custom designed seat had been made to his specs.

She hurried around to the passenger’s side and sat down, closing the door behind her. Dean’s fingers flew over the steering buttons and tapped the center console, the car roaring to life again as he pressed down on the accelerator and pulled away from the curb, narrowly avoiding hitting the car in his blind spot. He flicked the gear paddles behind the steering wheel expertly and smoothly brought the car up to the third gear, leaving his corner, the club, Trickster and all his problems behind as he put the piece of art on wheels through its paces.

Man, what a car. He moved through the cars on the road smoothly, like he was an oil slick in water, accelerating on the straight empty stretches and turning corners like he was riding rails. He became aware of his surroundings as he left the limits of what was considered West Hollywood, and he realized that he had no idea where they were going. He slowed the car to a more reasonable speed and glanced at the woman in the passenger seat. She was wearing a classic charcoal dress and those damned awkward heels. Other than that, he took note of a slim figure, long legs and decently generous breasts. Her blonde hair was up in a tight twist that looked really uncomfortable but made her neck look a mile long. Her make up was discreet, which made him think of expensive brands.

“Please,” she said in a small voice as she looked straight ahead and Dean glanced her way again, this time noticing the tension in her shoulders and her hands clasped together tightly in her lap. “I can get you money, if that’s what you want, but don’t…”

Dean looked back out at the road, frowning at what she was implying. “You don’t have to worry about me. I’m harmless.” He turned towards her again with a charming smile. She glanced at him, but the tension failed to leave her posture. “I’m sorry about the scene back there. It was really more about me than you.” Her silence persisted and he drove through a few intersections before pulling up to a red light. “Where can I take you? Where are you staying?” When she didn’t answer, he turned towards her in the seat. “Listen, seriously, I’m not gonna do anything to you. I just want to get you home and then I’ll go on my merry way. I’m really not into the whole rape kink thing, certainly not with a stranger.”

The light turned green and the car behind him honked once, letting him know he could get his obnoxious car rolling. Jealous micro-dick, Dean thought. He floored the accelerator, clicking through the double transmission and leaving him in his dust. Dean laughed.

“This car’s awesome.”

“You’re a prostitute.” The woman stated it plainly, but Dean still felt it in his gut like a blow.

“I prefer the term man-whore personally,” he joked.

“This is a professional choice? To sell yourself for sex?”

“Gotta make a living somehow, darlin’.”

“Don’t call me that. The name’s Joanna. And I didn’t mean to be insulting. I just think it’s an odd choice of profession, the risks and everything. Why would someone risk the STDs from a junkie for something they can get for free on Tinder?”

“Hey! I’ll have you know that I’m clean OK? I don’t touch drugs and I get checked out once a month at the clinic. I am worlds safer than some asshole you meet on Tinder. Besides, how much do people fork over for dates these days? And let’s assume you decide after an evening of dull conversation that you want to take him back to your place for a bit of fun? What guarantee do you have that you’re even going to be satisfied, or hell, that HIS promiscuous Tinder lifestyle hasn’t resulted in an STD he won’t tell you about, he might not even know he has?

“Darlin’, not only am I a sure thing, I am safer that your Tinder-Dick-Pic Date, and I guarantee that I am a much better lay.”

The car rang with her laughter and Dean forgot to be angry or insulted as he caught her genuine smile. “You should have that on your business card. “A better lay than Tinder-Dick-Pic-Guy.”

“So now that we’ve decided I’m not going to rape you, where are we going?”

“The Beverly Wilshire.”

“Beverly Hills, coming right up.”

Dean turned at the next intersection, orienting himself a moment before heading back the correct road to get them back on track.

“What’s the going rate for your services then?”

Dean turned his head and looked her over again before looking back at the road. “$200.”

“For a night?”

“An hour.”

“$200 an hour and you wear those rags? What, do you jack your prices because I look like I have money?”

“No. Because you pissed me off.”

“Emotions have no place in a business transaction. That’s how you lose a deal.”

Dean saw her checking him out from the corner of his eye and he adjusted himself in the seat slowly, flexing muscles in his arms, legs and chest, contracting his abs and guiding her eyes to some key points of interest of his anatomy. She shifted in her seat and turned her head away sharply. Dean smiled smugly. He was actually considering continuing straight past the hotel as he saw its looming shape dominate that stretch of the road. He was enjoying that car way too much though and he pulled up to the curb. Almost immediately, a valet opened his door and he stepped out, straightening up like he was getting up from the floor. He had to hand it to the grey uniformed man who took his place in the driver’s seat: he barely stared when he got out.

Dean looked around at the upscale neighbourhood and noted the much cleaner, uniform, white lighting all along the street, as opposed to the colourful neons of his own neck of the woods. There weren’t that many people walking around the evening streets, but as he hopped up onto the sidewalk, he found himself tucking his hands in his jean vest pockets and holding it closed over his bare torso.

Joanna gave the valet the electronic key and grabbed her satchel out from the footwell. She straightened up and glanced over at the self-proclaimed man-whore who had rescued her. She couldn’t help seeing it that way, though her now calm mind had half shrugged off the whole thing as inconsequential. She moved towards him on the sidewalk, rummaging around for her wallet. When she looked up, it was to find him standing barely a foot away, his hands in his vest pockets, an expectant look in his eyes. She took a step back, and that look seemed to dull a little. It disappeared completely when she held out a twenty-dollar bill.

“Thank you,” she told him as he reached for the money.

He looked at it a moment before folding it in his palm and sticking his hand back in his pocket. “Great. I guess I can just grab a taxi back up town.”

“Go back to your… office.”

“Yup.”

The man turned on his cowboy heels and started walking away. Joanna watched him leaving. She couldn’t say what it was in that moment that made her do it: was it her brush with violence, her recent break up, her ever-lasting loneliness, the particularly nice shape of him? Maybe it was a deadly cocktail of all these things. The why of it hardly mattered as she found herself calling out to him. He stopped and turned back towards her and she walked up to him again. That expectant confidence was back in his face as he looked down at her.

“Just to be sure. You did say two hundred?”

“I did.”

She nodded, feeling as awkward as if she was asking a high school crush to dance with her. “This is crazy, I don’t even know your name.”

“It’s whatever you want it to be,” he answered right away.

Joanna frowned. The man wouldn’t even tell her his name. What the hell kind of bullshit was she getting herself into now? She took a step back, growing increasingly unsure about the whole thing. She should just go upstairs and get back to work.

“It’s Dean,” he said hurriedly, reaching his hand out and wrapping his long fingers around her hand, steadying her flight. “My name’s Dean.”

“So, how does this work, Dean?”

“Well, now I accompany you back to your room. Unless you want to go al fresco.”

“Um, no. I think not.”


	5. The Penthouse

She turned back towards the hotel doors, her stride purposeful, direct and Dean hustled to catch up to her. He followed her into the plush lobby, and he tried to not let his jaw hang at the richness of the décor. There weren’t too many people in the hotel’s grand entrance, and he was thankful for the privacy to get over his own shock. As he looked around, he noticed the little table by the door and the bowl of courtesy mints. He reached into the bowl and pulled out a handful, shoving them in his vest pocket before taking another one from the bowl and popping it into his mouth. Joanna was already standing by the elevator, completely unconcerned whether or not he was following her. She stood perfectly straight, and yet she wasn’t stiff. It was like this ramrod posture was natural for her. Dean found himself wondering at the type of woman she was, when she wasn’t out picking up sex workers, that is.

When he reached the elevator, there was a couple standing nearby. As soon as they spotted him, the woman turned away, her discomfort palpable. The man looked over his wife’s head and sized Dean up, his lips pursed in disapproval. He couldn’t resist and winked at the man, letting his hand stray down towards his own crotch and waiting for him to check him out. The elevator doors finally opened, and Dean strutted inside, puckering his lips into a kiss before disappearing from view.

The bell boy standing by the elevator’s inside controls startled openly when Dean walked past him and spread out on the little stuffed red velour bench. “Mirrors, couch,” he called out loudly, “You know, a little mood lighting and a disco ball, and we got ourselves an orgy!”

He saw Joanna close her eyes and cringe before turning to the couple. “No elevators in Malibu apparently.”

She stepped into the elevator, but the couple didn’t follow. He took his booted foot off the little bench but didn’t stand just yet. “Sorry,” he said to her, feeling like he had somehow disappointed her. “I couldn’t help it.”

“Try,” was all she said for the rest of the ride up and Dean busied himself with looking at all their reflections in the mirror lined walls of the elevator cabin: Joanna with her perfect posture, and the bell boy standing in the corner with his hotel uniform sneaking peeks at him too, a shy smile on his face.

The elevator came to a standstill after an interminable minute of silence and he stood up as the doors opened. The words on the wall caught his attention.

“Penthouse! Now we’re talking.” He stepped out of the elevator, followed by Joanna who took a key card out of her bag and stuck it in the appropriate slot under the handle of the wooden double doors. Dean leaned up against the door, bringing his leg up and leaning his heel on it to make his jeans crease suggestively. She barely glanced at him as she opened the door and dropped the key card on the small table just on the inside.

Dean followed her in and closed the door behind them. He barely noticed her walking over to a desk set up by the windows and pulling her laptop out of her bag; he was dumbfounded by the room itself. It opened up just past the walls of the entrance, _could a hotel room have its own lobby? Jesus._ The room was bigger than his and Trick’s entire apartment. To the left there was a dining area with a dark, heavy, carved wood table, polished to a shine and topped with an arrangement of fresh flowers. Matching chairs were set all around it, ready for a dinner party. Dean’s boot heels were sinking into the plush carpeting and he briefly wondered how Joanna managed to walk on it with her stilettos without falling. To the right, there was a set of open French doors through which he could see a large king-sized bed, sheets neatly tucked in and adding a foot to the height of the elevated bed. The center of the main room had a sunken floor with two steps leading down. The back wall was draped in delicate sheer linen curtains that hung over floor-to-ceiling windows with arched lintels. One of these was standing ajar leading out to a stone balcony.

Dean made a line for the open door, passing by Joanna who was pulling papers out of her satchel while she waited for her computer to turn on. He walked out onto the balcony. It stretched from one end of the building to the other, a waist-high parapet a foot and a half thick standing between himself and the sea of twinkling city lights stretched out below him and to the foot of the Hollywood Hills; a dark outline against the glow of the night sky. There were no tall buildings to block the view, or towering above the hotel, affording this penthouse complete privacy from prying eyes.

“Fuck, how much do people pay for a view like this?”

“About $7,000 a night.”

Dean’s stomach clenched just thinking about that much money. “Damn. If I was paying that much, I’d be spending all my time out here, really maximize that.”

“I haven’t gone out there, yet. No time.”

Dean turned and walked back into the suite. From his new vantage point, he could see a hallway stretching beyond the first bedroom. How many bedrooms did this place have? He glanced down at Joanna who was typing something on her laptop, staring at the screen. The desk was set up sideways to the wall between two windows. The curtains were drawn in such a way that from where she was, she wouldn’t even be able to see beyond the balcony wall. “If you don’t have time to appreciate the room’s perks, why do you fork over that much money for it?”

Joanna spared him a quick glance. “It’s the best,” she said returning to her computer.

Dean looked around again quickly as he pulled off his jean vest and dropped it onto the back of the couch that wrapped around part of the room. The thing could easily seat ten people, he mused. There were a few armchairs scattered around the walls, and a low coffee table set up in the centre with more fresh cut flowers.

He turned to look at the blonde, still typing away at her computer. He sat himself astride one of the ottomans and flicked his hat back so he could look up at her.

“Well, now that you’ve got me here, what do you have in mind?”

“You know, I have absolutely no idea.” She sat back against the chair’s rest and looked at him, her eyes moving over his body, taking him in. “I’ve never done anything like this before.”

“Yeah, I pretty much guessed that one.” He stood up again and walked over to stand beside her, leaning back against the desk, his boots crossed at the ankles. “You could start by paying me. That might break the ice a little.”

She blinked twice, the only outward sign that she might have been startled by his reminder of the business side of the transaction, and then she bent down to pick up her satchel. She pulled her wallet out again, this time leafing through the bills and handing him $200. Dean quickly tucked it away in his boot beside Jimmy’s earlier $50, forty, since he gave Tricks ten bucks of it.

“Alright, so what’re you into? Any kinks? Anal? You want me to eat you out? You wanna strap on a dildo and fuck me? What gets you off, sweetheart?”

She coughed awkwardly and stood up, forcing Dean to look up at her. He reached out and pulled her in gently by the waist. He could almost feel her discomfort coming off her in waves of stiff posture and eye contact avoidance. He reminded himself that this was her first time with a pro, and he slowed his pace. He reached up and kissed her neck in the hollow right above her collar bone. God, she smelled nice. He kissed her again, pressing his lips to her skin as he skimmed her arm with his fingers, keeping his touch feather light. He kissed her shoulder as his hand reached it and spread across her upper back. He pulled the strap of her dress down and kissed the skin that had been hidden under it.

He brought up his other hand and cradled her neck as he stood away from the desk to pull her up against him. He felt her sigh into his shoulder a moment before she drew away and out of his reach, pulling her dress back in place. “Why don’t we just talk for a while?”

“Talk.” Dean didn’t try to hide his confusion at her abruptly slamming the brakes. He let out a frustrated sigh though as he wondered how he was supposed to get his thing done if she kept resisting him. Was she trying to live out some fantasy? He would need some pointers if that was the case, and as it was, she wasn’t giving him anything to work with. Or maybe she didn’t know what she wanted, he considered as he watched her settle in one of the armchairs in the living room area. Talk.

“So, Joanna, are you in town for business, or pleasure?”

“Aren’t those two things the same for you?”

Dean smiled as he walked up to where she was sitting and sat down on the ottoman in front of her again. “For me they are. And my clients never complain either.”

He reached up and removed the cowboy hat from his head, running his fingers through his wavy locks of light brown hair. He tossed the hat onto the couch, near his vest and turned back to look at her. He could tell that she wanted something by the way her eyes kept taking inventory of his body. She didn’t seem ready to express what that want was just yet though. He let his eyes move down her body and all the way down her long legs to her small feet that were still jammed in those torturous stilettos. He reached forward, letting his hand smooth down her cool leg. He pressed his fingertips into her skin, massaging the muscles of her calf before pulling her leg up gently and laying her foot in his lap, forcing her to sit back in the chair. He nimbly undid the tiny clasp of the strap and pulled off her shoe. He set it down on the floor then wrapped her foot in his hands, pressing his thumbs into the sole, watching her perfectly pedicured toes curl under.

“Tell me what you like,” he said softly as he massaged her, “What’s your secret fantasy? What do you dream about, Joanna?” She didn’t answer him, but she wasn’t getting up either and Dean decided to push a little further. “Did you know that erogenous zones exist all over the body?” He bent forward and kissed her ankle. He massaged up her calf, slipping his fingers behind her knee and pressing the sensitive spot there. He felt her leg twitch ever so slightly and she sighed as he kissed her kneecap, his fingers continuing their exploration of her leg. He was pleased. Clearly this was a woman who hadn’t been touched enough by her lovers. Fucking idiots. He glanced up and noticed the phone sitting on the little round table beside the chair and an idea struck him. “Does this place do room service?”

“Of course,” she answered, her eyes slowly opening to look at him. He smiled and rocked himself forward off the ottoman and leaned on the chair’s armrests. His body was hovering over hers and he saw her breath jump in her throat and chest. He picked up the phone receiver and hit the zero to reach the room service. As it rang, he lowered himself until he was just above her, their body heat bouncing off each other, and he kissed her neck again, flicking her earlobe with his tongue before closing his lips and suckling it. A voice answered at the other end of the line and he barely paused his ministrations to ask for them to send up chocolate covered strawberries and a jar of coconut oil.

“What’s that for?” she asked him, sounding just this side of breathless.

“You’ll see,” was all he answered as he returned to identifying her hot spots. He subtly glanced at the clock, noting the time. He would have to move things along a little if he was going to live up to his business promise. He suckled at her neck gently, careful to stimulate the thin skin under her chin as he ran a hand over her knee and under the skirt of her dress. He pressed into her inner thigh and though she most definitely sighed, she suddenly jerked back to her feet like he had given her an electric shock. He sat back on the ottoman as she stepped around him and went to stand by the large couch, leaning against it to remove her other shoe.

“You really don’t have to play hard to get with me. You’re paying for this, so if you want me to give you a good time, you’re going to have to give me a little more direction. Time’s ticking, and I really need to get to work if you want a happy ending.”

He went to stand by her which was when the doorbell rang. She startled and made for the door, throwing a “I got it,” over her shoulder. He threw his hands in the air, looking around growing exasperated. His eyes landed on the little sidebar at the top of the steps and he walked over to it. He put his booted foot up on the rail and leaned his elbows down on the bar top. He heard her direct the room service clerk to put the items on the bar and Dean flexed a little. Maybe she wanted to look at him again.

She exchanged quick business-like words with the hotel employee and Dean straightened up to check out the delivered goodies. There were two identical stainless-steel bowls with fitted covers, and he lifted one up to find a mound of chocolate covered strawberries. In the other was a perfectly rounded scoop of coconut oil. He smoothed his fingers on the scoop and they came away slick with melted oil; perfect.

He heard her close the door behind the clerk and he turned around to face her. He ran his hand in his long hair again, flexing his biceps and pecs. He looked at her intently, like she was the single most important thing in the room, and nothing else was worthy of his attention. She barely seemed to register it. “What do you say we get things started here?”

She stopped beside the desk and glanced his way. “Time seems to be an issue with you.”

“I am paid by the hour. I’m just trying to deliver the goods.”

“Alright. How much for the whole night then?”

Dean blinked repeatedly, confused by the request. She barely wanted him to touch her for a few minutes at a time, what the hell did she want to have him around the whole night for? Then an image of Trickster popped into his mind, and his earlier worries about paying rent and Trick’s debt resurfaced. If he could just get the rent taken care of, it would already be a win. Before he could think any further and talk himself out of it, he said “$600, for the night.”

“Deal,” she agreed right away. “Can we relax now?”

Dean pushed off from the bar and strolled up to her. He bent down to kiss her nape, running his hand up her arm, the coconut oil leaving a mark on her perfect skin. “I can help you relax, if you let me do my thing,” Dean whispered against her neck, “And it won’t have to take all night.”

She moved away again, and Dean sighed in frustration, running his hand through his hair to move it out of his face. “So, what do you want me to do all night?”

“I don’t know,” she said, standing just out of hand’s reach. “I honestly don’t know. I just… I don’t want to be alone right now.”

He watched her move back to her computer and sit down. He brought the bowl of strawberries over to her and leaned against the desk again picking one up by the leaves. He put the bowl down beside him as he bit into the perfectly ripened strawberry, a little juice falling down his chin. He swallowed down the berry, enjoying the taste of the chocolate. His stomach rumbled for more, but he held back, folding his arms over his bare chest.

“You should try these. They’re just right.”

“Maybe in a bit.”

Dean nodded, looking around, unsure what he was supposed to do next. His eyes strayed down the hallway. “Do you mind if I freshen up a bit?”

“No, of course. Go right ahead.”

He turned to look at her again, but she was focused on her screen. “You could join me, if you want.”

She made a non-committal sound and Dean made his way back up the steps. He pulled off his boots, leaving them by the bar and tucked his socks into them. He pulled down his shorts too, parading his naked body in the brightly lit penthouse suite, running through his dwindling ideas for how he was going to woo a paying customer who didn’t seem interested in anything he had offered so far.

Joanna watched him from the corner of her eye as he stripped out of the remaining clothes and stood by the bar like a work of art waiting for some form of acknowledgment. Then, he walked away and disappeared down the hall, taking his distracting body with him. Joanna sat back in her chair and let out a shaky breath. What on earth was she doing? She turned back to her computer and tried to focus on the numbers flashing on the screen, cross-referencing them with those in her spreadsheet, and found herself thinking about the naked man in the shower.

She could hear the water running, which meant that he had left the door open. Of course, he had. The more she tried to not think about him, the more her mind tried to picture the water running down his perfect body, covering every inch of his skin, his green eyes staring at her, fierce and intense. Because those peepers had not gone unnoticed. Holy Hell, just thinking about them made her shiver.

She opened her eyes and stared at the screen. She closed the spreadsheet and opened her email instead. There were a few new ones sitting in her inbox and she busied herself answering them. Or so she thought. A minute went by, and then another and she realized that she had been staring at the flashing cursor in the reply window and hadn’t managed a single word. She knocked her laptop shut and rubbed her hand on her forehead feeling the old familiar headache begin to pound from the back of her head and up towards her frontal lobe.

She pictured the water running down his body, covering every inch of his skin in rivulets that ran in every crease of his muscles. Before she knew it, Joanna had stood and made her way up the steps and down the hallway to seek out what her mind kept conjuring. She stopped in front of the open bathroom door and she could just see the shadow of his shape through the steamed up glass of the shower walls. She closed her eyes tightly and moved on to the bedroom where she stripped out of her dress and draped it over the stuffed armchair in the corner. She would send it for dry cleaning in the morning. She walked over to the bed and found her black silk kimono with the brightly woven Japanese koi laid out on the side of the bed where she had slept an hour or two the night before. She slipped it on and tied the sash before heading back to the main room.

She had started checking off the list of things she needed to get ready for the big meeting the next day, only every time she tried to focus on what needed to get done, she thought about her argument with Brandon: failed relationship attempt number… what was she up to now?

With a sigh she sat down at the small desk that had been set up especially for her at her request and she pushed open the laptop again, going back to those emails.

Dean had waited under the hot water about as long as he dared, figuring that she might have come to him if he waited long enough, but he had reached the point where he would start pruning if he stayed longer. He was impressed though that the hot water had not run out yet, and he turned the faucet shut. He grabbed a plush white towel and shoved his face into it, taking a deep breath of the delicate lavender laundry detergent. Towels had never smelled so amazing. He quickly dried himself off and wrapped the towel around his hips loosely. He figured he’d play it safe heading back out to the main room, in case she was still reticent. No point in scaring her off now, he had all night.

He headed back out to the main room and glanced over at Joanna who was sitting at her desk still. He picked up his shorts and slipped them back on, looking for a place to put the towel and settling for leaving it on the little bar top. He could hear her talking and he glanced back to see she was on the phone. He couldn’t figure out what she was talking about though, the jargon completely lost on him. He bent down and picked out a couple colorful packets from his boot and slipped them into his pocket. He had a feeling that when she would finally be ready to go, it wouldn’t be the time to get up and fetch supplies.

He spotted the small fridge just under the bar top as he straightened up again and opened the door, revealing the goodies inside: snacks and bottled water and soda and beer and even miniature bottles of liquor. He gathered a selection of things into his arms and the little stainless-steel bowl of coconut oil and headed towards the sunken living room.

Joanna glanced up at him as he walked by and he gestured at the snacks. She waved him on with a smile and went back to her phone call. He moved into the living room looking around at the many seating options before settling for spreading out on the plush carpet. He had always been a floor kind of guy anyways. Within minutes he had set himself up with a perfect mini-bar picnic on the floor.

There was a lull in the conversation and Dean stretched his neck to look around the couch at Joanna who had put her phone down and was back to looking at the computer screen. “I’ve got a little picnic thing going on over here, if you’re feeling up to it.”

“You go ahead. I just have a couple calls to make.”

Dean shrugged and opened a packet of macadamia nuts. He popped one in his mouth and wondered how it was possible for a nut to melt in his mouth. He chuckled to himself and picked up the remote. “You mind if I watch some TV?”

“Knock yourself out.”

He shook his head dumbfounded. Woman was paying him $600 to watch television. He scooted back a little and leaned back on his hands so she could at least look at him if she wanted to. He glanced her way and realized she was on the phone again. From his vantage point he could see her legs under the desk, black satin or silk cascading around them down to the floor. She had changed while he was in the shower. He entertained himself imagining what she might still be wearing under her robe and he surprised himself feeling his pants getting a little tight. He turned back to the television and the many ridiculous antics of the Scooby-Gang as they tried to solve another mystery.

Slowly, his mind forgot where he was and why he was there as he snacked on his goodies and drank down a miniature bottle of Jack Daniels. He was so involved with the animated figures on the screen that he didn’t notice when Joanna stopped talking the next time. The main lights turned off in the room, only a far off side-lamp glowing from near the entrance and the blue light from the television left to illuminate the area and he heard the rustle of her robe behind him as she walked into the living room. He turned his head when she put the bowl of strawberries down beside him. She sat down in one of the armchairs, pulling her robe around her legs to cover up. Scooby barked something ridiculous and Dean started laughing, turning his attention back to the television. He ate one of the strawberries and burst out laughing again.

Beside him, he heard Joanna huff and he gave her a sideways glance. She had a shadow of a smile just barely tugging at her lips and nearly invisible in the television’s glow. She wasn’t watching the cartoon though. She was watching him. Dean felt the familiar rush in his veins firing him up. He hadn’t realized just how relaxed he had gotten, sitting there on the floor, watching cartoons and eating snacks. He sat back against his hands, giving her a better view and when he turned to look at her again, her eyes were moving up and down following the shape of him. Time to work.

He muted the cartoon on the television and rocked to his hands and knees. He grabbed the coconut oil, finally time to use it, and set it down beside her chair. He kept a close eye on her reactions, watchful for a turn in her mood, but so far, she was just quietly watching him. He turned back around and grabbed the strawberries, setting them down on the little table beside her. He kneeled up in front of her, her legs crossed at the knees and to the side. Dean reached forward and took the end of the sash keeping her robe closed in his hand. He tugged at it gently, the bow coming undone with a swish and he parted the panels revealing what was hidden underneath: black lace bra and panties and a nicely feminine body with curves in all the right places. He slipped his hands along her sides and pulled her down the chair at a better angle.

Fingers and palms slicked with coconut oil, Dean massaged her whole body, starting at her ankles and making his way up her legs, along her trim belly and up to her neck and shoulders, avoiding the more obvious erogenous zones and focusing on the ones that usually got forgotten: her knees, her thighs, the spot below her navel, her neck and shoulders. He warmed her up with his hands, gliding them over her oiled body with hardly any friction. He pressed into the skin, shifting it as the muscles beneath twitched and relaxed.

Joanna let out a shaky breath as he brushed against the swell of her breast, avoiding the hardening nub at its center. His hands were all over her, ever moving and shifting and he added his mouth to the mix, pressing his lips to the warm skin covering her solar plexus.

“Tell me what you want, Joanna,” he whispered against her skin as he kissed it again, nuzzling her gently as her breath hitched.

“What do you do?” she asked him, equally softly, like a sigh backed by a wish.

He looked up at her through the valley between her breasts as he kissed lower, starting a slow path down her stomach while his hands massaged her thighs. “Everything. Except I don’t kiss on the mouth.”

“OK,” she said, sounding breathless.

He kissed her right above the line of her panties and pulled back slightly. He curled his fingers around her thigh and guided her legs apart. He settled himself between them, pulling her down closer toward him as he kissed the inside of her thigh. He felt her tense up slightly, and he shushed gently between kisses as he moved up ever closer to the lace covered mound. “Just close your eyes and let me take you to Heaven, baby.”

He brought his mouth up close to her pussy and breathed on her through her lace undies. Her stomach twitched and rolled, and he smiled. He pressed his hand against her, covering her with his palm. She wriggled slightly but didn’t move away. When he glanced at her face, her eyes were closed tightly, her lips parted, her breathing already accelerating. He pulled aside the fabric of the underwear, revealing neatly trimmed golden down and a waxed bikini line. He slicked his fingers up with coconut oil and started massaging her lips. He kissed her inner thigh again as he pushed a fingertip inside and pulled it back out again. He rubbed a quick circle around her clit drawing a soft moan.

“Yes,” she sighed, and he sank a finger inside her. She moaned softly and rolled her hips and he sank a second finger in with the first, stroking her insides, feeling around for that little patch of rough that would have her coming undone in his hand. He breathed on her clit and stroked her with his other hand as he plunged his fingers inside her over and over. She shuddered and he stroked faster. She moaned and he tightened the circles on her clit. She came with a silent tensing of her muscles around his fingers and he worked her through it, slipping one hand down into his own pants to tug at himself and draw out his budding erection; making it nice and hard.

When she relaxed again, he pulled his hand away and stood up. She opened her eyes and they were instantly drawn to the bulge in his shorts. He leaned his hands on the arm rests and brought his body down close to hers, pressing his mouth to her neck and nipping at the sensitive skin there. Her eyes were watching him every time he glanced up as he explored her torso with his mouth and her hands were clinging tightly to the arms of the chair. Dean pressed his hips down against hers and rolled, his weight still mostly supported by his arms. “You can touch me if you want,” he told her.

He rolled against her again and her hands released the chair and wrapped around his broad shoulders, clinging to them. Dean went back to kissing her and slowly lowered himself to his knees again, his mouth continuing to explore her coconut-flavoured torso. As he kissed her breasts, she ran her hands in his hair and tugged at him like she was trying to control a puppet’s strings. He kissed around her hardened nipple, flicking his tongue at it, wetting it through the sheer lace. She arched her back and pulled his head down as he moved away, trying to keep him closer to her straining nipple and he smiled. He took her in his mouth and suckled her through the thin lace. She sighed and Dean raised himself off the ground again. He pushed his jean covered cock against her pelvis and brought his mouth up against her ear. “Do you want more, sweetheart?” he rumbled into her ear before sucking her lobe into his mouth.

“Yes,” she sighed into his ear so sweetly, clinging to his shoulders.

He got to his feet, slipping his arms under her and hoisting her up against his chest. He carried her out of the living room and into the bedroom with the enormous bed and pulled back the overly puffy covers, sending them spilling to the ground. He set her down in the centre of the mattress and kissed the base of her throat as he pushed aside her silky robe then pulled it away from her completely, letting it fall to the ground beside the bed. He climbed into the bed and settled himself between her thighs, pressing his hard cock against her as he slipped his hand behind her shoulders and deftly unclasped her bra one handed.

He was everywhere, his body covering hers, his hands petting and groping, his mouth nipping and suckling and she moaned, wrapping her legs around his hips and rolling with him, arching her back as he pulled on her nipple hard. His hands moved down her body and his fingers slipped under the waistband of her panties again and straight inside her. Dear god, she was so wet. He moved his fingers in and out of her as he licked and nipped at one breast and fondled the other. She was writhing under him, little sighs escaping her mouth as her hands clung to his shoulders, his head, pulled at his hair, anything she could grab.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out one of the colourful packets he had slipped in there before. He kneeled between her legs as she watched him, breathlessly. He smiled at her, enjoying looking at her naked body, before hooking his fingers in her panties and pulling them down her legs. He wrapped an arm through and around her bent knee and kissed the inside of her thigh before sinking down to the mattress, her pussy right in front of him. He unwrapped the dental dam quickly and pressed it against her, making a barrier between his mouth and her labia. Through the thin latex he pushed his tongue against her clit, her own juices slicking her up and making the latex shift and glide against it. He licked and suckled at her clit then pushed his tongue inside her, stimulating as much of the sensitive skin as he could with his mouth, simulating sex with his tongue. Her hands were in his hair and her thighs were pressed against his ears and she was holding onto him so, so tightly and he worked her faster, finally focusing his mouth on her clit and slipping his fingers into her again, thrusting them in straight to the knuckles while he sucked and licked. She came again, clasping him tightly to her as her legs shook from the intensity of it.

She finally released him, and he looked up at her: her face was flushed and her previously immaculate hair had loosened strands. She was breathing heavily, and she looked languid and spent. She was absolutely gorgeous. He shifted his shoulders letting her legs fall off to each side as he crawled up over her body slowly. Her eyes were fixed on his as he drew closer. He covered her with his body, wrapping one arm around her, clasping her tightly. He lowered his head, aiming for her neck and Joanna turned her head like she wanted to catch his mouth with hers. He drew away out of reach and ducked down below her jaw to nip and kiss at her skin.

He rocked his hips against her slowly, pressing his cock against her through his jeans. Her hands skimmed down his back, the light touch raising goosebumps on his skin. Her hands pressed against him more confidently as they stroked down his lower back and they didn’t hesitate to slip into his shorts and squeeze his ass. Dean responded by pushing against her again. He lifted his head to look at her face, gauging her mood.

“You want more, sweetheart?” he rolled against her again.

She looked at him, her blown-pupil eyes looking like they were taking inventory of every one of his stupid freckles.

“Joanna?” he lowered his mouth to her ear again and whispered against her skin as he rolled his hips slowly. “Do you want me?”

She let out a tremulous sigh, her arms coming up to wrap around his neck and shoulders. “God, yes,” she breathed out.

He slipped out of her embrace and stood beside the bed. She watched him. She watched him with her secretive, and intense stare that he could only half understand. She watched him as he removed his shorts, and it excited him. He pulled a condom out of his pocket and straightened up. Her eyes widened slightly as she stared at his cock and he stroked himself slowly. He rolled the condom onto himself and moved back up to the bed. She rolled towards him as he lay down on his side. She was reaching for him with her whole body, like she wanted to wrap him into her. Dean’s hand on her hip stopped her and he rolled her away in the other direction instead pressing his body up against her back. She fit his body perfectly, her ass pressing back against his hips, her bent head almost tucking under his chin. He kissed her hair tenderly.

He worked to prime her, one arm wrapped around her shoulders and kneading her breast slowly while his free arm rove down her arm, waist and hip and straight down to her pussy. He teased her clit with his fingertips and kissed the back of her neck. He used his whole body, writhing against her slowly to stimulate her while he scraped his teeth against her skin. He dipped his fingers into her to slick her up and she pushed her hips back against him. She surprised a soft moan out of him, and he nearly chuckled at his own reaction. She did it again and he maneuvered her so he could line up his cock with her pussy. He didn’t wait for her to writhe back against him again, he held her steady as he pushed into her slowly from behind. She gasped and turned her head into the pillow as he bottomed out with a groan. God she was so tight around his cock. He pulled back and pushed into her again and he heard her moan into the pillow. He slowly increased the speed of his thrusts, listening to her gasps as she clung to his arm and pushed back against him every time. With every press of her hips, he thrust harder and faster. He reached around with his free hand and slipped a finger into her pussy, slicking it up with her juices and pressing the tip against her clit. She gasped and twitched, and he increased his assault, pounding into her and rubbing her clit. Her fingers wrapped around his wrist and pulled at his hand, trying to pull him away, but he had her number now.

He didn’t let up as he pressed his mouth to her ear. “Let it happen, baby,” he whispered, sounding just this side of breathless. She stopped trying to hold him back, her hand reaching behind them and digging her nails into his ass. It was his turn to gasp in her ear, unable to deny the pleasure he felt himself at her authentic, passionate responses. He felt close to release, that familiar tingling in his tailbone starting to spread heat to his balls. He checked her quickly and saw she was ready to pop again. He grew even more excited at the prospect of them both getting a happy ending. He just had to time it right. He grabbed her leg and swung it over his head and against his shoulder as he smoothly switched their position and he settled between her thighs. He thrust into her harder, this position giving him more leverage. He pounded into her and watched her; her face was flushed, her eyes squeezed shut, her hands knuckling the sheets, her legs twitching when his thumb brushed her clit and she was moaning nearly constantly. He pressed the slicked pad of his thumb against her clit and she was coming apart again, squeezing him with everything she had. He felt the heat intensify like liquid sunshine and two more thrusts had him coming into the condom with a shaky gasp.

He slowed his movements and pulled out, holding the edges of the condom. He did a quick job of tying it off and tossing it into the bedside bin. He felt satisfied that the job was done, at least for the moment, and he swung her leg over his head and moved up to lay alongside her. He pulled her back up against him, the curve of her ass pressing against his softening cock.

He had not expected to come, and he found himself feeling languid and satisfied; like a fat cat. He was so comfy, lost in the middle of that enormous bed, and he wrapped his arms around her and nuzzled and kissed her shoulder absently, letting them come down slowly.

His body was so warm it felt like it was searing into her skin as he pressed himself against her back. His arm was heavy, draped over her hip and she could feel every inch of him where his body was pressed against hers like the nerves under her skin had suddenly become hyper-sensitive. His lips against her skin felt so nice; sinking much deeper than her skin. She hadn’t been held like that since… somewhere around failed relationship 3 or 4. She allowed herself another moment to indulge and then moved away, feeling him loosen his hold. She sat on the edge of the bed and quickly picked up her kimono, slipping her arms into the sleeves and pulling the edges closed around her. She wasn’t sure how she felt right then. She had paid someone to have sex with her. And it had been… so good.

“Where are you going?” he asked her, and his voice sounded rougher than before, a deep rumble caught in his throat.

“Shower.”

“Do you want company? Night is still young.”

Joanna turned to look at him and he was spread out naked and shameless on the bed like he was a model at a pornographic photoshoot: arms behind his head, abs just contracted enough, one long leg straight out and the other bent at the knee. “I need to clear my head.”

“I’ll wait right here, then.”

He winked at her and she huffed at him, amused. She looked at him a little longer, then turned away, heading for the shower. Though she had claimed the need to clear her head, she was surprised to find that it was already blissfully empty and devoid of all the doubts and confusion that had been assaulting her since the party. What had caused her to flee had been her inability to put Brandon out of her mind and it had led to some very uncharacteristic behaviour on her part, not least of which was hiring a prostitute. She couldn’t deny though that, whatever the reason for the sequence of events that had led her to this moment, she was glad it had happened.

She washed off the coconut oil residue and turned the tap. She dried herself off and carefully and pulled the pins out of her hair, brushing it out so it fell in thick waves just past her shoulders. She smiled as she thought about the man in her bed and the things he could do with his tongue. She walked back out of the main bedroom’s ensuite and looked over at the bed. Dean had rolled over and was lying spread out on his stomach, the perfect curve of his ass flowing smoothly into the arch of his back, his wide shoulders relaxed and his head resting on his arms, a pillow jammed in between. He was thoroughly asleep; his eyes closed, his mouth slightly open, his breathing even.

With a smile, Joanna turned away and headed out the door to get back to work.


	6. Monday, the Proposition

“He wants to meet you, Joanna.”

“I can respect that. The man wants to look me in the eyes when I tell him why I’m buying his company.”

“I’ll check my calendar to see when we can squeeze him in.”

“Not necessary, Zach. I won’t need you there.”

Joanna half listened to the protests at the other end of the line as she distractedly glanced up to see the man from the night before walk out from the bedroom wrapped in one of the hotel’s plush white bathrobes. He yawned widely and stretched his arms above his head then back, his body arching gracefully. He strolled into the dining area looking around at the bright room, sunshine streaming in through the wall of windows.

“Enough, Zachariah. Set it up. Tonight,” she said harshly into the phone, leaving no room for further discussion, or protest. Still he sounded belligerent.

“Fine. But for the record, I think this is a bad idea. I’m your lawyer. This is what you pay me for.”

“I pay you to close my deals, not to mother me.” Joanna glanced at Dean as he sat down on one of the chairs and surveyed the silver domed-covered platters that covered one end of the table. He reached for the silver carafe and served himself a steaming cup of coffee, taking a hot sip from between both his hands, his elbows resting on the table. His eyes were closed as he swallowed down the liquid, a smile on his face as he took a deep breath.

“Joanna? Are you still there?”

“Hey, Zach,” she said, suddenly inspired to make the pain-in-her-ass lawyer sweat. “About your car.”

“Oh God! What? Is it OK? What happened?”

“You can pick it up at the hotel. Front desk has your key.” She heard him sigh into the phone and she regaled herself in thinking about the condescending man’s blood pressure going through the roof as he thought about all the damage she might have caused to his precious car. “Set the meeting.”

She ended the call, swallowing her long-lived anger at the lawyer. If he wasn’t so competent, she would have fired him a long time ago. She was surprised to feel the anger and frustration wane slightly as she made her way over to the table to join the man in the robe. He opened his eyes as she sat down at the head of the table where she had left her tablet and coffee. The light coming in through the windows hit his irises at just the perfect angle and suddenly they glowed like peridot stones smoothed to clear perfection. His long hair had a wave to it that would have made it look messy even without the bed head and he smoothed it back as best he could, a strand obstinately falling across his forehead and cheek, just not quite long enough to stay tucked behind his ear. He was eyeing the platters again.

“Go ahead. I didn’t know what you liked, so I ordered everything on the menu.”

His eyes opened even wider, was it possible for a man to have such big round eyes? Not to mention eyelashes she could only get that full herself using mascara. The boyish freckles were a nice touch too. And those lips. She thought again about what he could do with his mouth, what he had done, in fact, and she squeezed her legs together against the sudden throb of desire. He dove for the silver domes and started raising them to see what goodies he could find. She caught herself smiling as he pulled towards him the short stack of pancakes, the perfect square of butter still melting on top, the plate of scrambled eggs and topped it with the side of extra bacon.

“Sorry about…” he pointed back over his shoulder with his fork, his mouth full of pancake, clearly referring to the bedroom. He swallowed his mouthful. “I forgot where I was.”

“Occupational hazard?”

He stuffed another mouthful of food past his lips, barely chewed, and swallowed like it would disappear if he took too long. “Not usually. Let’s just say that if I’m lucky enough to have a bed to work with, it’s certainly not one in a five-star.”

“Living the life.”

He shrugged, affecting nonchalance, but something about the way he moved – slower, more inhibited – made her think that maybe she had struck a nerve. She wondered why she cared. “So, Joanna, what do you do?”

She sipped her coffee, watching him over the brim of her cup. “I work in acquisitions,” she told him after a moment.

“What, like art stuff or something?” he bent over his plate again, back to stuffing his face.

“No. I buy companies.”

“What kind of companies?”

“All kinds of companies.”

He frowned. “What do you do with the companies you buy? Like, turn them around? You swoop in and save them like a consultant kind of thing?”

Joanna frowned as she watched him. A consultant? As if. “CEOs and owners ruin themselves every day on failed ventures, or bad business years that make them run into the red. I buy them cheap and then sell off the company piece-by-piece. It makes me very rich.”

Dean stopped eating a moment and stared at the table with a pensive frown. “So, like TWOC-ing a car and selling the parts.”

Joanna scoffed, incredulous. “Except legal.”

Dean polished off his plate and wiped his mouth with his hand. “Everything’s legal… until it’s not.”

Joanna felt the smile tugging at her lips. She was surprised to find that the man she had picked up off the street wearing barely anything and proclaiming himself a man-whore was actually quite pleasant to talk with as well. Not just a pretty face, she mused to herself. She was pulled from the discussion though as her phone started ringing again. She glanced at the caller ID and nearly groaned. She reached for the tiny, insistent anchor that dragged her down wherever she went and hit the green answer button.

“Is it done, Zach?”

“I’m not happy about it but it’s done.”

“Um,” Dean said quietly, and she turned her eyes back on him as he stood from the table. “You mind if I swim in the tub before I get going?”

She nodded and turned her attention back to Zachariah as he repeated his earlier concerns. “I managed to move a couple things around in my calendar, so I can accompany you tonight.”

Joanna could feel the anger swell inside her, not only was he insisting, the fucking prick, but he was talking down to her like she hadn’t spent the better part of 15 years handling these kinds of deals. “Zach, I already said your presence is neither required nor wanted. So, he wants to meet with me, discuss his plans and explain to me why his company is his baby and all the usual bullshit. I can fucking handle it.”

Music drifted over from the open bedroom door and she glanced that way, feeling herself drawing away from the conversation again as she thought about what the man was now doing. A bath, Joanna… he’s taking a damn bath, that’s all. He’s wet, warm, naked—

“It’s not just going to be him, Joanna. He’s bringing his sister too. It’s a political strategy. Outnumber the enemy and overcome.”

“Zach, he’s not “bringing his sister,” she’s co-owner of the damn company, and she’s the damn CFO. Of course, she’s going to be at any meeting involving the sale. Get your head out of your ass.”

“Fine, if you won’t let me come with you for business reasons, then think about your safety.”

“Excuse me, my what?” Joanna fumed; condescending, chauvinistic little prick.

“You know what I mean—” Zachariah’s frustrating voice droned on with his sexist discourse, but Joanna’s attention was suddenly pulled away from the conversation by the sound of another voice drifting to her from down the hall, louder than the music. Was he… singing?

She let Zachariah keep talking, the man hardly needing any feedback from her to keep ranting; he did so love the sound of his own voice, and she made her way back towards the main bedroom and the ensuite that had the large, sunken jacuzzi style tub. He had left all the doors open, which was why she had heard him across the penthouse. She stepped into the bathroom to the sights and sounds of him: sitting back in the large bathtub nearly overflowing with bubbles while the speakers, discreetly set in the corners around the ceiling, flooded the room with music, his eyes were closed and his face cringed and twisted as he belted out the lyrics – _Ramble on! Sing my so-ong!_ – a little off beat and a little off tune and very deeply satisfying to watch. His long hair was wet and slicked back from his forehead, his muscular arms and shoulders the only things visible above the edge of the blanket of bubbles.

“What’s that noise?” Zachariah’s voice on the phone asked her.

Joanna kept her eyes on the man in the tub, an idea starting to form in her mind. “Housekeeping is singing. You can stop your bellyaching too. I’ll bring someone with me tonight.”

Dean’s eyes startled open, and his mouth shut just as quickly, when he heard Joanna’s voice inside the bathroom. She was standing by the open door in her grey pantsuit. Her legs looked impossibly long with the cuffs skimming the ground around her stilettos. Her hair was twisted up again, making her soft facial features look harsh and sharp. She had just the hint of makeup on her face, making her eyes look fierce and cunning. This was not a woman you messed with. He pitied whoever was on the other end of that phone.

“You don’t know him. I’ll see you at the office.”

She hung up the phone and took the few steps separating the door from the edge of the tub. “Don’t you knock?” Dean asked, as she carefully laid a folded towel on the raised tiling beside the tub and sat down.

“Maybe I would, if you actually shut doors.”

Dean felt a little sheepish as he grinned at her, Led Zeppelin still wailing in the speakers around the room. “Alexa, stop music. That thing is seriously cool.”

A shadow of a smile swept over her features and was gone the next moment and he stared in marvel at her complete self control. The next words out of her mouth completely caught him by surprise and there was no doubt that she could read it all over his face.

“I have a proposition for you. I want you to stay here, with me, for the week.” Dean’s mind flatlined, if that was at all possible.

“Uh… I’m flattered, Joanna, but the whole week? What the hell for?”

“I’m in town for business—”

“Selling a company for parts.”

“Eventually. First, I have to close the deal. These things aren’t always straight forward and there’s a lot of politics involved. A lot of hand shaking and ass kissing. The business community is small, and likes to gossip, and gossip can destroy a deal just as much as bad negotiating.”

“Like poker. One tell, and your bluff is fucked.”

Joanna nodded. “If I’m going to have people gossip about me, I’d much prefer it be about the fresh body in my bed, instead of another failed relationship and a dried-up honey pot.”

“Does that make me Winnie the Pooh?”

Frown lines appeared on her forehead as she looked at him perplexed, “Do you want to be Winnie the Pooh?”

Dean turned on the charm, giving her his best lopsided grin, “If it means I get to dip in your honey pot…” He let the words hang and pumped his eyebrows once.

“Sounds like maybe I should be charging you.”

“Sorry, darlin’, fresh outta cash.”

“Do you hear that one a lot?” Dean shrugged, and played with the bubbles floating on the water, blowing on a handful and making a chunk float off like a little cloud. He was stalling, trying to gather his thoughts. A week? Playing boyfriend to this powerful woman? Rubbing elbows with the upper society ranks of LA? Could he even do it? And more importantly, could he afford to pass it up? Why him?

“Explain this to me, though. You’re a rich, beautiful woman: you can just walk into any bar or club and pick up a fresh, hot boyfriend for free. So, why?”

Joanna’s eyes roamed down, giving his mostly submerged body a slow once over that would’ve made him blush at one time. “I don’t need romantic hassles this week. I want a professional.”

“Alright. But I gotta warn ya, it’s gonna cost ya.”

Joanna’s shoulders bounced once and she pursed her lips, trying to hide a smile. Oh, he would so have her at poker. “How much?” she asked him.

Dean did a quick calculation in his head, and then did it again, and then decided on a number at random because there was no way she’d go for it. “Eight large.” She didn’t even flinch.

“Six nights at $600 is thirty-six hundred.”

“Yeah, but you want days too.”

“Fine, make it an even five.”

“Six!” he said, keeping his face straight and serious as he looked her in the eyes without blinking.

She smirked, “Deal.”

Deal? Did she just say deal? On six thousand dollars? “Holy son of a bitch!” he said as his thoughts raced and made him dizzy just thinking about what he could do with that much dough.

Joanna snapped her fingers in front of his nose drawing his attention back and he blinked away the dreamy thoughts that had filled his head. “Dean. Is it a deal?”

“Uh, yeah. Hell yeah.” He lifted a hand dripping in water and reached towards her before her raised eyebrows stopped him. He pulled back before he could get her expensive suit wet. “Sorry.”

“You’re running out of bubbles,” she said, winking at him before standing up and walking out of the bathroom.

Dean wasted no time getting out of the tub and mostly drying himself off before wrapping the towel around his hips and smoothing his damp hair back. He headed down the hallway and back to the main room to catch up with her.

“We’ll be going to dinner tonight,” she told him as he met her in the little entrance of the suite.

“Awesome.”

“Meeting with the owners of the company I’m working on.”

“Oh.”

Joanna glanced at him as she gathered her computer and things, her eyes automatically straying down before turning away again. “You’re going to need some clothes.”

“No problem, I can just swing by my place and pick up a few things.”

She stopped on her way to the door and glanced behind him. He turned to see what she was looking at and found his cowboy boots still waiting by the bar. He turned back to look at her, and her suit, and he would have felt slightly inadequate if it weren’t for his persistent giddiness. She leaned her bag on the small table beside the door and pulled out her wallet, coming to stand in front of him. She pulled a few bills from the folds and held them out to him. “How ‘bout you go buy yourself something new? We’re going to a restaurant called _Le Voltaire_, very high end. So, stick to classic. Sharp suit, no tux. OK?”

Dean took the bills from her hand, marvelling at the Benjamins. “You should really consider travellers cheques.”

She gave him a look like she wasn’t amused, and he grinned at her. “I’ll be coming back here to get you. Be ready to go at 7. Any questions?”

“Can I call you Jojo?”

She frowned at him, a sneer on her lips. “Not if you expect me to answer.”

“Aw, come on! You like it.”

“Goodbye, Dean. I’ll see you tonight,” she said as she opened the door and left.

Dean grabbed the door before it closed and leaned out his naked torso into the hallway. “Jo,” he called out as she hit the call button on the elevator. She turned and looked at him, her perfect posture, not a wrinkle on her suit or a hair out of place. She turned her head, her neck bending gracefully, her eyebrows arching in question. “You gonna miss me?”

“I’m gonna miss that six thousand dollars.” The doors of the elevator opened as she gave him a slow once over before locking her eyes on his again. “Get some clothes on.”

She walked into the elevator and out of sight and Dean smiled from ear-to-ear glancing at the money in his hand as he closed the door to the penthouse suite. He turned and looked around again at the lavish hotel room in open wonder. He rushed out to the balcony, his body suddenly bursting with too much energy to be contained and he leaned against the stone parapet, bending over the edge and looking straight down at the street and sidewalk. His chest tingled and he felt like he was glowing and he raised his fists in the air as he let out a “Holy shit!” followed by mad laughter that bubbled up from his belly and rang out over the street, drawing stares from below that could see nothing beyond the hotel’s stone balcony on the top floor.

He walked back into the hotel room and headed for the bedroom where he had left his shorts the night before. He dropped the towel and pulled them up, tucking himself back as he zipped them. He grabbed the phone on the bedside table and dialed the apartment phone.

“Come on, Tricks,” Dean muttered in the mouthpiece as it rang without answer. With a quick glance at the unmade bed, he let himself fall back onto the springy mattress with a happy sigh. Finally, on the sixth ring a sleep drowsy voice answered.

“’lo?”

“You sure took your sweet time answering the damn phone!”

“Ma?!”

“No dumbass, it’s me. Dean.”

“Oh! Thank God. My mom’s been dead for like five years.”

“Where’d you go last night? I tried calling you, but you didn’t answer.”

“I was here. Sleeping.”

“You sure?”

“Hey, fuck you buddy. And where the Hell are you?”

“Are you hanging on to your balls?”

“Always… why?”

“Remember the doe from last night? The one with the car?”

“Yeah, nice rims. What about her?”

“I am in her hotel room in Beverly Hills. The fucking penthouse! This place is bigger than the friggin’ Hell Hole, man.”

“Do I wanna hear this?”

“My bare ass slept on a bed like a fucking cloud. Pure fuckin’ bliss.”

“Yeah, definitely don’t wanna hear about this.”

“That’s not even the best part. She wants me to stay for the whole week.”

“Get the fuck out!”

“Honest Abe. Guess how much she’s paying me.”

“How much?”

“Six thousand buckeroos.”

“Get the fuck outta town! Aw man! I gave her to you!”

Dean snorted into the phone, “I worked my ass off man, you gave me nothing.”

“Is she twisted? Kinky? Come on, Sexstyles of the Rich and Famous, lay it on me!”

“Naw, man. She was… normal. It was actually kinda nice.”

“Yeah, you go ahead and hold out on me like a little bitch. There’s always something wrong with them. She pay you yet?”

“Naw. End of the week.”

“That’s what’s wrong with her.”

“Shut up, she’s good for it. Besides, she already paid me for last night AND extra money for shopping. Look, I got enough to pay for rent this month, so you see that sleezeball around, tell him I’ll come by and pay him in the next couple days OK?”

“Praise Jesus! So tell mean Dean-o, You gonna dress yourself up all nice and pretty for her?”

“Seriously, dude, shut up. Where do I go to buy a nice suit?” On the other end of the line, Dean could hear Trickster laughing uproariously. “Can it, chuckle head,” he growled into the phone.

“Shopping? In Beverly Hills? You gotta hit Rodeo Drive, baby.”


	7. Rodeo Drive, Baby

The sun beating down on the streets of Beverly Hills was warm on Dean’s skin as he confidently navigated through the mid-morning sidewalk crowd of Rodeo Drive. His cowboy boots clunked on the cement and he found himself humming to the rhythm of his steps as he looked around at everything he could see. The place was so fucking clean: clean cars, clean people, clean windows, clean fucking sidewalks. He figured someone could eat off the damn things. And the stores. They scrolled by him as he walked, his mouth agape, a never-ending sequence of ebony black storefronts and cool white marble entrances and jewels and purses and pretty, shiny things all aglitter in the window displays. Everything looked so rich, so luxurious – and he was gonna be one of the pretty, shiny things too.

He walked for a block or so, admiring the palm trees and the 50G cars lining the road, tipping his hat at fellow morning shoppers, completely oblivious to their startled glances and captious stares. Nestled amongst the shoes, jewelry, women’s haute couture and whatnot, Dean finally spotted some mannequins in a window display sporting some nice-looking suit jackets. Dean could almost see himself squaring his shoulders while he tied one of the buttons, “Lookin’ sharp there, Mr. Winchester.” He nodded to his reflection and turned his feet towards the door.

His eyes took in the inside of the store; everything, down to the faint smell of cologne in the air, screamed money. He looked all around, his eyes unable to land on any one thing before they were drawn to another, and then another; ties, shoes, belts, shirts, pants, jackets... what the hell was he supposed to look at first? He stuck his hands in the pockets of his jean vest and walked further in. There weren’t many people in the store, which Dean thought was both relief and curse: he did not have to worry about people watching him look like a complete amateur, but he also had no one to follow to see how they went about picking out something. He moved closer to the wall where several suit jackets were hanging. He looked through them one at a time trying to find a size that made sense. What did all these numbers mean?

“Excuse me,” said a high, pinched voice from behind him. “Can I help you?”

Dean straightened up from the hanging suit jackets to find a meticulously groomed young man standing a few feet to the side with his hands clasped behind his back, one eyebrow arched as he slowly looked Dean up-and-down. He could feel his skin prickle with unease, and he knew that although he needed help, he was not about to ask Mr. Snootykins here.

“Uh, thanks, I’m just browsing for now.”

Dean could have sworn that the young man’s lip had curled in disgust, his eyes darting unsubtly to Dean’s hand, which was still resting on one of the suit jackets’ shoulders. He moved his hand away and the man-child’s sneer retracted but did not disappear completely as he continued to chill Dean with his hostile stare.

“I can save you the time. You won’t find what you’re looking for here.”

“Excuse me?”

“Clearly, you’re in the wrong place.”

“The fuck did you just say to me?” Dean’s anger rose quickly, fanned to life by his growing shame.

“Is there a problem, here?” Another man, this one slightly older, salt and pepper hair that could be natural, or not, meticulously groomed and also dressed sharply, stepped up to lend assistance.

“Yeah, Jr. Douchewad here thinks I’m in the wrong place.”

“Well, that seems fairly obvious.”

Dean turned his furious glare away from the first sales rep. to look at the newcomer with dismay. “I’m here to buy a suit.”

“And I’m sure the lovely folks at JCPenney could find you something… suitable.”

“Are you shitting me right now?”

Both the sales reps shuddered, actually shuddered, as though a creature of the utmost abhorrence had just come into their store. To these twats Dean Winchester was no better than a dirty rat that had somehow managed to get inside and was now threatening to taint merchandise and store occupants with his low-class.

“You’re going to have to leave. There is nothing for you here.”

Dean wanted to hit something. Drive his fist right through the smart-ass’s snobby fucking face. He wanted to let loose his rage and outrage at being treated like a second-rate human being, like something that had crawled out of the dirt. He could feel the anger bubbling under his skin, and he yearned to let it explode out of him violently. But the longer they stared at him with their curled noses and arched eyebrows, the more the pure fire of his anger turned to battery acid in his stomach and he churned as the shame swelled and took over. His past crowded his thoughts, his father’s insults and disgust filled his ears as the feeling smothered all others and left him folding in on himself. Head low, he turned and walked back out of the store.

His journey back to the imposing Beverly Wilshire hotel was much less pleasant than the expedition in. He could feel the people’s stares like hot pokers on his soul, and he folded his arms tightly against his chest, keeping the jean vest closed over his otherwise bare torso, but painfully away of his legs, the tight shorts not leaving much to the imagination, which on Hollywood Blvd was actually the point. Here, he wanted to crawl under the pavement and disappear. It was a good thing he hadn’t strayed too far from the building and the penthouse suite that he couldn’t wait to get back to. He felt the cool shade cast by the hotel like a comforting blanket, hiding him from the unforgiving sun’s shameful exposure of his body.

The hotel lobby was much more crowded than it had been the night before and his heels clunked loudly on the marble floor like a gong announcing his presence to the other guests. _Just get to the fucking elevator_, he told himself, tilting his hat down a little further. He moved beyond the front desk, wrapped in his bubble, completely focused on his goal and blocking out everything else. He startled when he felt the strong hand grab his elbow, stopping him in his tracks.

“Excuse me, sir,” a polite but gruff sounding voice addressed him.

Dean tilted his head back to look at the person who had stopped him and found an older man of medium stature, slight gut protruding but well tucked back in a tailored black suit, the hotel’s crest embroidered on the breast pocket, a golden, metallic nametag on the lapel announcing that he had been stopped by Mr. Robert Singer, Manager. Fuck.

Regardless of the nametag, the man introduced himself as he finally let go of Dean’s elbow. He had a bit of a country accent, betraying that he was not LA born and raised, but Dean couldn’t quite place it: maybe Texas, maybe one of the Dakotas, it wasn’t quite pronounced enough to be Alabama or Tennessee. He had longish light brown hair with some grey mixed in that was combed back from his forehead, the top clearly thinning. His square face had a trim brown beard that made him look both friendly and imposing all at once. “Can I help you?”

“Uh, no. I’m just trying to get back to my room. Thanks.”

Dean tried to step around the man, but he shifted slightly, stopping his progress. Dean huffed through his nose and looked away from the man’s piercing stare. He’d had enough of feeling like he was under a microscope.

“Do you have a key?”

“Shit!” he exclaimed under his breath as he realized that he had left the fucking key card in the room. “I left it in the room. I’m staying in the penthouse?”

The manager’s face was completely unphased, a perfect mask of indifference and professionalism and Dean knew at once that he was not fooling the man one bit, and he was shit out of luck and would be out on his ass very soon. His mind was working a mile a minute as he tried to figure out how to evade the manager so he wouldn’t lose his payday. The ding of the elevator rang out across the few feet that separated them from it and he looked up seeing the boy who ran the thing step out.

“He knows me!” Dean called out, pointing right at him, startling him.

He looked thin and stretched as he squared back his shoulders seeing the manager beside him. He had a startled look, emphasized in his wide brown eyes and slack mouth. He had pale, almost sickly skin, like he didn’t see the sun much.

“Adam,” the manager said, gesturing for him to step forward. “Did you just get off the night shift?”

“Yes, sir,” the boy answered, his voice a little shaky and cracking slightly, from exhaustion or mutation was unclear.

“Do you know this man?” The manager frowned as he looked at his employee’s uniform, then reached up to clasp the collar closed.

“He came in with Ms. Harvelle, last night.”

“Exactly!” Dean exclaimed, clapping the kid on the shoulder as he started past him towards the open elevator doors. “Joanna Harvelle, penthouse!”

He felt the strong grasp on his jean-clad shoulder and he glanced up at the mirror lined interior of the elevator to see the calm anger in the manager’s face before he pulled him back out and into the lobby.

“Get off me, man. What the hell?”

The manager didn’t say a word as he half-led, half-dragged Dean around one of the imposing columns in the lobby and around the front desk to a closed door marked _STAFF ONLY_ engraved on a thin golden plaque. The manager pushed open the door, revealing a stark white hallway, no plush carpets and decorative artwork for the staff hallway – it was purely utilitarian. There were a couple billboards with papers pinned to them, but Dean didn’t give them much more than a cursory glance, same with the employee wall of fame where framed photographs announced which douchewads were working too hard that month. The man had let go of his vest the moment they had stepped into the hallway, like being in that restricted section was enough to hold Dean back from taking off, and he opened one of the doors that lined the walls, leading off to the various services of the hotel.

Dean stepped through into a richly decorated office with a large solid wood desk that shone in varnished glory in the morning light coming in through the window in the back. The walls were lined with equally polished wooden shelves that contained books and binders and various documentation one would expect the manager of a grandiose hotel like the Beverly Wilshire might need in his day-to-day. The desk was covered in a fancy leather blotter, and other than a sad looking plant, had no personal touches: no photo of a loved one, no tacky mug with “World’s greatest dad” written in uneven letters. The manager gestured to one of the two padded armchairs angled towards the desk, and Dean sat himself down with a huff, hooking his boot-clad ankle up onto his knee while he slouched down. The man, on the other hand, didn’t go around to sit in his own chair behind the desk, rather he leaned back against the edge, ankles crossed, hands resting on the edge of the wood, looking stern.

“What’s your name, son?”

“What do you want it to be, pops?”

The man crossed his arms over his chest and lowered a soul devastating stare on him, making Dean feel like his insides were shrivelling up. “Stow the sass, boy.”

“Naw, you’re not really like my old man, more like a pervy uncle. You want me to sit on your knee? Maybe let you fondle my cock, pretend I’m a good little boy for you? I gotta warn you, though. I’m a lot bigger than your average four-year-old. Wouldn’t want to disappoint you.”

“Do you ever shut up? What do I look like, huh?”

“I thought, the pervy uncle bit pretty much covered that.”

“You must think you’re something else.”

Dean pressed his mouth into a pout as he thought about this. “I think I’m adorable,”

“Coming in here with your big attitude.”

“Not the only thing that’s big, if you catch my drift.”

The man’s stare was turning murderous and Dean grinned like this was the most fun he’d had in ages, even though what he really wanted was to be anywhere else. “Here’s what you’re gonna do. You’re going to shut up and listen, because I’m just about out of fucks to give for your wise ass bullshit.” He paused, maybe waiting for Dean to make another comment, but he was out of big attitude, his mock self-confidence crumbling. “Good. Now, I’m going to put aside my first impressions and assume that I’ve misjudged the situation and start over. I’m Robert, and you are…?”

“Dean.”

“Very good, Dean. Clearly, you’re in town visiting your…” Robert raised an eyebrow expectantly and Dean tried to figure out what he wanted to hear. He probably didn’t want the actual truth, family tie, maybe?

“Cousin?”

“I was going to go with friend, but if you want to go that way, fine. I assume you don’t have any other relatives staying at the Beverly Wilshire? Cousins, aunts, pervy uncles?”

“No,” Dean said, looking off to the side as he bounced his knee nervously. He felt something nick his leg as it slipped against his skin and fell out of his boot. He quickly bent down to pick up the brightly coloured condoms, but not fast enough to hide them from the manager. He tucked them back into his boot quickly while Robert looked off to the side with a pinched, pained expression on his face.

“And naturally,” he went on, “when Ms. Harvelle leaves, we won’t see you again.”

Dean shook his head. His stomach was churning and all he wanted was to get away from there.

“Listen carefully, Dean. Here at the Beverly Wilshire, we like to consider the visitors as our guests. Ms. Harvelle I would go so far as to consider a friend to the hotel.”

“Because she’s rolling in dough?”

“What did I say about shutting up? Now, normally we require our guests to sign in any additional visitors, but I’m willing to overlook that for a friend.”

“Great! So, can I go back to my room now?”

“In a moment. We have certain standards here, and what goes on at other hotels, we don’t tolerate here. Exceptions can be made for a friend like Ms. Harvelle, but there is a limit. I expect your behaviour to be exemplary when in the presence of the other guests. I won’t have you tarnish the reputation of this fine establishment or embarrass me or the staff.

“I got it. Is that all?”

“Yeah, I think that about covers it.” He pushed off from the desk and walked over to the door to open it before adding, “I would encourage you to dress a little more appropriately.”

Dean’s anger burst out of him again suddenly as he thought about the shop keepers and their fucking holier-than-thou attitudes. “Yeah, I tried that!” he found himself telling the man. “I fucking tried, OK? I went to the shops, I tried to buy a suit and they fucking laughed me out of there. Beverly Hills fucking bullshit faggy pricks.” The man closed the office door again, keeping his eyes on him, but his expression was blank, neutral, like he was waiting for Dean to say something that made sense. “And I have money! OK? I have money to spend, I have to get a suit, for tonight. And I can’t get anyone to take me seriously! What the fuck am I supposed to do with this cash if no one helps me? I sure as fuck can’t go to a dinner meeting thing dressed like this.” Dean pulled out the folded bills from his pocket and waved them around, before dropping his hands in his lap, staring at them like they held a broken toy. Back on the boulevard that much money was almost inconceivable to have in his pocket, and yet here it was so beyond unimportant that it was not enough to gain him even a modicum of respect.

Robert moved away from the door and walked back to his desk. Dean watched him pick up the phone and he knocked his head back against the chair back. The guy was calling the cops. He knew it. A guy like him could only get this much cash by robbing someone… fuck earning it! He was gonna go to jail and they would lock him away for prostitution and theft. Great. Somehow, he doubted Joanna would bail him out.

“Yes, Lisa? Could you put me through to Saks? Thank you.”

“You’re not calling the cops?”

“Should I?” Robert asked him as he waited for his call to be transferred. Dean shook his head, frowning and the manager turned his attention back to the phone. “Men’s formalwear department. Pamela Barns, please.” There was another pause while Dean watched him, intrigued. What was he doing? “Hello Pamela. Robert Singer from the Beverly Wil…” Was the man blushing? Dean wondered as he suddenly stopped and chuckled slightly. “Right. Listen, Pamela, I need a favour. I’ve got a guest who needs your help. Yes. He’s the cousin of a very special guest, and he needs help picking out a suit. I’ll send him right over. Thank you, Pamela.”

Robert hung up the phone and Dean stood up slowly. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Thank you is a good place to start.”

Dean reached forward and shook the man’s hand, “Thank you doesn’t even start to cover it.”

“Fine. Just do me a favour and get out of my damn office and get your ass over to Saks.”

“Of course,” Dean let go his hand and turned to rush out the door.

“Leave the damn hat! Idjit.”

Dean pulled his cowboy hat off his head and tossed it into the room. By the time it bounced off the back of the chair and fell to the floor, Dean was rushing out of the hallway and heading out through the lobby, oblivious to the stares once more. The sense of urgency rushing through him was so that within a blink or two he was standing outside the imposing looking building of the Saks 5th Avenue. It was a large three-story white building with black roof and trim around the windows. It was large and square and dominated its corner of Wilshire and Peck. It was actually three buildings spanning nearly a full city block, but this particular building had the words “The Men’s Store” stamped in white across the front of the black entrance awning. With a deep breath, Dean stuck his hands in his jean vest pockets again, wrapping the fingers of one around the folded bills to remind him that he was there for a reason and that he would succeed.

He pulled on the large golden handle of the glass store doors and walked in. The place looked like a very fancy restaurant, with glass chandeliers and black décor, but someone had stuck mannequins sporting clothes for any and every possible occasion in clusters of three around the place instead of tables. He hadn’t thought it possible, but Dean felt even more overwhelmed at the thought of shopping here. He looked around, but there didn’t seem to be anybody waiting for him, so he slowly wandered inside and made his way to a glass encased display counter. Glancing inside he saw it had some of the most beautiful watches he’d ever seen, their designer’s logos on little glass holders beside them next to… no that couldn’t be the price.

“Holy shit on a stick.”

“Hey there! Oh, you are definitely my 11 o’clock.”

Dean straightened up and turned around facing the very pretty sales associate. She had long brown-black hair falling in barely controlled messy waves just past her shoulders. She had grey eyes that slowly took inventory of his outfit and body in a way that made him want to charge her for it. She had on a pair of second-skin-tight dark wash jeans and a black tank top with the word “Style” written across her ample breast, a black blazer thrown on top to complete the outfit. The only jewelry she had was a large polished stone lying flat against her breastbone in a dark grey metallic casing that hung from around her neck. Her nametag said Pamela.

“Well aren’t you all kinds of shades of sexy.”

“Uh… thanks?”

“You are welcome. Follow me.”

“Uh, Pamela? I need—”

“A suit. Going to a fancy restaurant. I know.”

“How…”

“Did I know that? A lady never tells her secrets.” She winked at him and turned around again, forcing Dean to follow her sashaying hips. “Besides, Bobby mentioned you’re someone’s cousin and needed my help.”

“Thank you. I really appreciate it.” Dean could feel himself relaxing a little more with every word she said; her casual attitude and flirting putting him completely at his ease. “Uh… Pamela?”

“What is it, hun?” She said as they drew up to an articulated mirror with dark blue crushed micro-fiber sofas facing it in a semi-circle. Behind the mirror were a few drawn curtains. She grabbed his wrist and pulled him to the centre of the area, making him face the mirrors.

“She’s not really my cousin.”

“Oh god, I would hope not. It would be a tragedy to be your cousin, talk about frustrating a woman.” She surprised a smile out of Dean as he shook his head. “Now be a good boy and hold still while I take your measurements.”

She stood a little away and scanned him head to foot again before stepping up close to him again and laying her hands on his shoulders. He got a whiff of her perfume, the delicate undertones of vanilla pleasantly wrapping his scent centers in a way that made him want to moan softly in the back of his throat. She ran her hands all over him: across his shoulders, down his sides from his chest to his waist, her warm palms directly on his skin.

“Shouldn’t you use a measuring tape, or something?”

“Where’s the fun in that?” she asked from behind him. “Drop the shorts.”

Dean did as he was told, undoing the button and zipper with practiced ease and pulling them down.

“Oh my! OK, we’re good. Might want to go ahead and pull those back up, commando.” With a sheepish grin, Dean did as he was told, but left his shorts untied. “Alright sweet cheeks, let’s get you dressed for the ball.”


	8. Dinner, and Dessert

Joanna sat in the plush executive’s chair at the head of the conference room table listening to the suits in the room having a meltdown. She was content for the moment to have been forgotten while she thought about their next move.

“Milton just got the inside track on a contract…”

“Shit, this deal could get a hell of a lot more expensive…”

“He can’t get that contract…”

“I thought you said they had nothing…”

“Their stock could go through the roof…”

“Maybe it’s good that we heard about this now.” One of the junior suits, Matt or Mike or something, came right up to Joanna which would have forced her to tilt her head back to look at him, so she chose to ignore him and keep glaring at the table while he spoke. “We can still back out of this deal.”

“We’re not backing out of anything!” Zachariah burst out, leaning onto the table and glaring at the pup. “We’ve got 1,000 man-hours on this, we are not just walking away.”

The discussion got heated, bouncing back and forth between opinions and a headache began to throb behind Joanna’s left eyebrow.

“Enough,” she said softly. The noise in the room increased regardless and she stood up, making sure to keep her composure calm and cool. “I said enough, gentlemen.”

“Joanna, please, we’ll handle this.” Zachariah said, waving her off to sit down again. She kept her poker face on, her disdain in check. A part of her preferred working with Zachariah over the phone for this exact reason. She didn’t need to see his condescending, let the men take care of it, attitude from him. She figured he undermined her regularly when she was off in New York and he wheel-and-dealed for her here in LA, but having him do it right to her face felt that much more insulting and unacceptable. She would just have to remind him why she was his boss and not the other way around.

“Who do we know on the senate appropriations committee?”

“What was that?” Zach asked her, finally turning to look at her while the other man-boys in their thousand-dollar suits stopped talking and turned suspicious eyes on her. Insolent pricks, all of them.

“I asked you who we know on the appropriations committee. Come on, Zach. A deal that big always goes through appropriations first. We can bury it in so much red tape, by the time that contract is cleared, we’ll be breaking up Milton industries and selling off that waterfront property to the highest bidders.”

“That’s brilliant.” He turned to the only other woman in the room, his personal assistant, and told her to get Senator MacLoed on the phone. “We got a lot of work left ahead of us gentlemen,” he said, addressing the rest of the gathered team of lawyers and associates, “this is how the game is played. No time to drop the ball now.” The cocky prick was preening like he had been the one to make the suggestion. Joanna found herself swallowing down her anger again.

The room burst into a flurry of activity as everyone suddenly stood up, gathering laptops and phones, and scurried out of the boardroom in hushed frenzy. Joanna glanced at her watch as Zachariah approached her. “I have to get going. Can you handle Fergus MacLoed?”

“Under control. I love how vicious you can be.”

“Not just a pretty face, Zach.” She gave him a tight-lipped smile.

“About tonight,” he continued as she gathered her satchel. “Are you sure you don’t want me to go with you? Considering what we just found out, it’s clear that Milton is playing hardball. I don’t want you to get… distracted.”

“I don’t need you, or want you there, Zach. I’m better at this part of the game than you are.”

“We’re not talking about a trinket here, Joanna.”

“Zach… If I thought we were doing this for anything less than a multi-million-dollar deal, I wouldn’t bother. Besides, I already told you I’m bringing someone.”

“Did Brendan fly in last night?”

Joanna pursed her lips and glared at him. “Brendan is out of the picture.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“No. you’re not.”

“So, if it’s not Brendan, who’s going with you tonight?”

A very graphic image of Dean standing by the bed, his eyes focused on hers, his unruly locks falling across his face, his erect cock in his hand flashed in her mind and she felt the corner of her lips curl up as she looked at Zach and told him he didn’t know him.

The drive back to the hotel was slow going, even with the hotel chauffeur taking all the shortcuts and side streets, avoiding the bulk of the traffic as they headed back to Beverly Hills. It was almost eerie how every time they approached a red light, it would turn green just as they pulled up to it. She thought again about her mad ride through town the night before, the half-naked man behind the wheel handling the over-powered sports car like he drove NASCAR for a living, as opposed to what he actually did.

She strolled confidently through the hotel lobby, intent on getting back to her room to change into something more appropriate for the dinner venue. As she neared the elevator, a man in a hotel suit raised his hand and tried to catch her attention, but she had no time for whatever his issue was, and she walked through the open elevator doors putting him out of her mind quickly.

She walked in through the suite doors and dropped the key card on the table, moving quickly through to her desk to drop off her laptop. She looked up as her computer booted, realizing just how quiet the rooms were. Where was Dean? She frowned, glancing around the spotless room. Obviously, housekeeping had come through, only they seemed to have left something on the dining table. She walked back to it and found a note waiting for her. _Waiting for you downstairs at the Blvd. Take your time. Dean_

Joanna felt her tightly coiled insides loosen slightly as she read the note over again. She turned and headed into the master bedroom, noticing the jean shorts and vest casually tossed onto one of the armchairs. For a moment she thought of him standing naked at the crowded bar, and she laughed at her silly hormones. Of course, he wasn’t naked. She shook away the image and walked into the washroom to get ready.

Freshly twisted hair and carefully applied make up later, she rode the elevator back down to the lobby, glancing in the mirror at her knee-length, charcoal sleeveless dress, the coral slip barely peaking out at the bottom, hovering at her knees. She felt exposed, even though the dress covered her from neck to knee: the soft line of the subtle A flare made her look and feel feminine, weak.

She turned away from her reflection and focused on the lobby as the doors opened, squaring her shoulders and stepping out. Her steps were measured, sure, determined as always from the top of her strappy stiletto sandals, refusing to compromise an inch of added height for comfort. She strolled into The Blvd, and scanned the room teeming with people for Dean. She was instantly annoyed when she didn’t spot him. She didn’t have time for these games. She was about to turn around and leave when one of the heads sitting at the bar turned towards her. She blinked away her surprise as he stood up and gracefully walked towards her, tying the buttons of his dark suit jacket over his white shirt, a dark tie finishing the look. Gone were the messy locks, his hair was cut stylishly short on the sides with a bit of length on top, clearing his ears and accentuating his strong jaw and face shape, somehow making his large eyes and plump lips that much more obscene.

He stopped as he drew up to where she stood, stunned and unmoving, and he held out his arms to the sides.

“So? Is it OK?” His hand reached for his tie and adjusted it, accidentally leaving it akimbo.

Joanna tucked her clutch under her arm and reached up to adjust it back properly. Her hands smoothed down his front and nimbly undid the bottom button of his jacket. “This stays untied.”

Dean glanced down quickly, then looked back up at her with a sheepish grin, losing his affected, super-model, stone-cold seducer look, and looking much more natural. “You look amazing,” he told her as he bent down and kissed her cheek. As he straightened back up, he bent his elbow towards her in invitation and she slipped her hand into it. Joanna could see some of the heads in the restaurant turning and she wondered, as he looked down at her with his shy grin, if he realized the sway he held over the room.

The town car pulled up to the curb a short drive later and Joanna waited for the chauffeur to rush around the front to open her door. She noticed Dean was looking out the window a little uneasily.

“Any pointers for me in there?” he asked her as he fiddled with his tie again, and she again had to straighten it out.

“Don’t fidget. Be confident. Or else, they’ll eat you alive.”

He turned away from the restaurant’s front and canted his head to the side raising his eyebrows mischievously. “Eat me alive? Sounds like a good time.” He winked at her and she huffed an irrepressible laugh.

“I said confident, not cocky.”

She swept her hand along his jacketed shoulders, giving him a final once over. Her eyes landed on his as he watched her, the green of his irises looking olive in the dark interior of the car and her hand strayed to his smooth cheek and down his jaw. Her thumb settled against his parted lips. Her heart was beating loudly in her ears and she wondered if he could feel it through her fingertips.

The interior of the car was suddenly flooded with light as the driver pulled open the door to let them out on the sidewalk. Joanna unfolded herself gracefully from the back seat and Dean followed her, smoothing out his suit and gazing off towards the restaurant windows.

Dean did his best to try not to appear overly impressed with the richness of the décor inside. He had already decided that the best way to approach his role as Jo’s escort was to be the picture of elegance and sophistication, so he was going to be James Bond. He smoothly pulled ahead of Joanna as she reached the restaurant door and held it open for her. He followed her inside and did his best to look unaffected by the sheer luxury of the restaurant. Everything was shined, clean, rich. The lighting was dim, but each table had a flickering candle sitting in the center of cream coloured tablecloths, like the restaurant was making a statement about how clean they were by using the most stainable colour and not giving a shit… and why would they? White or no, there were no stains on those tablecloths.

He and Joanna were guided by the Maître D to a table occupied on two of its sides by a man and a woman. They stood to greet them as they arrived. Joanna introduced herself and then Dean, calling him her friend. Dean took quick inventory of each of them as they shook hands. The woman, Anna, had red hair and hard brown eyes with a beauty mark on her left cheek. She was wearing a black and cream lace dress that hugged her body’s curves like a second skin, accentuating her tall feminine figure: narrow waist and wide hips. His professional assessment left him with an impression of a woman who would seek something thrilling, and semi-private, like the back of a car maybe. The man had short, messy, black hair and large piercing blue eyes. He was similarly built as Dean was, and he instantly thought of the man as a jogger. He gave off an aura of control and intensity wrapped in a blue suit and tie and Dean thought that sex with him might be an intensely mind-blowing experience. He introduced himself as Castiel Milton and Dean couldn’t help but comment on the unusual name.

“My father is an unusual man,” he told him with a deep gritty voice that caught Dean by surprise.

Dean released Castiel’s hand and turned to Jo who had moved towards the empty chair across the table from where Castiel had been sitting. Dean pulled it out for her and tucked it under her as she sat down before taking his own seat to her right. Everyone settled at the table, the small talk began.

“So, Dean,” started Castiel, the man locking his blue eyes on him and not blinking nearly enough. “What’s your business?”

“Uh…” Dean hesitated a moment, thrown off by the direct question, but he quickly recovered, starting the explanation he had rehearsed all afternoon while mingling with guests of the hotel in the bar. “I work in sales. Marketing mostly.”

“Have we seen your work?” asked Anna as she stared at him openly.

He noticed Joanna glance his way, but he went on, seeing he had a captive audience in Castiel and Anna. “I highly doubt it. The product I market is not generally sold to such a… sophisticated clientele.”

Conversation was interrupted by the arrival of the entrée. Dean stared at his plate confusedly. He leaned over towards Joanna. “Did we see the menu?” he whispered.

“It’s a concept menu. Everyone eats the same thing.”

“Oh!” Dean went back to looking at the curious dish in front of him, trying to see past the fancy garnish to figure out what utensil he should be using. What the hell was this stuff?

“Ms. Harvelle,” the girl, Anna, said abruptly, drawing Joanna’s attention while he continued his analysis of his plate and poked at what looked like pieces of crust covered in chunky beige matter. To himself he named it Monkey Brain Toast. “We believe that those who created a company should be the ones to decide its fate.”

“Ms. Milton, as much as I can appreciate that sentiment, your father was the one who created this company.”

“And he left it to us, so—”

“Personally, I never understood the concept of eating finger foods with utensils.”

Dean frowned and turned to look at the man beside him who simply reached into his plate and picked up one of the goopy, lumpy toasts with his fingers and brought it to his mouth. Dean could’ve sworn his blue eyes had twinkled momentarily before turning back to the discussion between his sister and his rival. Dean followed his lead and after picking off the little green hairy bits, he picked up his glorified toast and smear and bit into it hungrily. It tasted like toast and flavourless goop.

“Perhaps,” Joanna responded to Anna, a steel edge to her voice, “He should have left it to someone who understands business, then. Your finances have been going steadily downhill for the past five years. Your company won’t survive another year in the red. What we’re offering is more generous than anybody else who might be looking to purchase your dying company. Unless you want to go bankrupt, you really don’t have a choice.”

“I’m not talking about your coup. What we want to know is what you intend to do with our company once it’s bought. It’s very difficult to get a clear answer between your business reputation and your lawyers playing coy.”

The conversation continued as the first course was taken away and replaced with the next. Dean tried very hard not to curl his nose at the contents of the dish in front of him. The large rounded shells may have been coated in oil, but all he could see was bugs… slimy… gross… inedible bugs. Monkey Brains and now bugs, maybe he wasn’t James Bond at all, maybe he had slipped into an Indiana Jones movie. _Swear to God, if one of those things starts to move_, he thought as he picked up the utensil they had brought with the dish, assuming it was meant to help him get whatever was in his plate into his mouth.

“Men like my father made this country, Ms. Harvelle. Through blood, sweat and tears.”

“Men like your father, Ms. Milton, made a fortune off the backs of the weak and then left with the money, leaving the next generations to flounder and fail.”

Dean tried to subtly pry open what he had assumed were pincers, but with little success, until Castiel showed him where to press to get them to open. Dean smiled, amused. He showed Joanna, who turned her head to look at him, but quickly looked away hiding a pinched smile.

“Are we talking about our father here, or your own?” Castiel asked, drawing all eyes on him as he returned to his plate.

Dean couldn’t help but look over at Joanna, whose face had gone completely blank and still, not betraying emotion as she also went back to picking at her plate. Despite himself, questions about his client began to bud and blossom into curiosity beyond what was required for him to do his job.

“To answer your question, Anna, what I intend to do with your company is to break it up and sell-off the pieces.”

“Ms. Harvelle, I’m sure you understand that Anna and I are not thrilled at the prospect of you turning our father’s legacy into a garage sale.”

“Be that as it may, what you want, and what you can afford to do are two very different things, Mr. Milton.”

“Castiel,” he said, turning his intensity on to Joanna.

Dean finally managed to manoeuvre one of the shells into the pincer like grip and stuck the thin pitchfork-like prongs inside. He pulled on the rubbery flesh, trying to scoop it out, but suddenly the whole thing slipped from his grip and went flying back and out of reach. Completely unsurprised, one of the attendants reached out and caught it in his hand, folding it back in front of him like it was nothing.

Dean turned back to the table to find all eyes on him. The Miltons with identical raised eyebrows, their family resemblance showing more obviously in that moment than at any other time since sitting down with them. Dean was worried about Joanna’s reaction to his etiquette blunder and he smiled endearingly at her as she stared at him with her neutral expression.

“Slippery little suckers,” he said apologetically, and he could swear he saw Jo’s lips twitch momentarily in mirth before she turned back to the others at the table.

The table was cleared once again and the next course was brought in, this time it was a ball of ice cream in a stainless-steel goblet on a thin stem and Dean looked at it, wondering why they were eating dessert before the main meal. Rich bastards and their weird fucking food… concept menu… whatever.

“I had the pleasure of meeting your father once. Bill, right?” Castiel said, aiming the comment at Joanna who visibly stiffened.

“I honestly doubt the encounter was pleasurable, Mr. Milton.”

“He wasn’t quite the son of a bitch his reputation suggests.”

“No, I’m afraid I’m the one who holds that title in my family, minus the “son of”, of course.”

Dean frowned, noticing that while Joanna held her head high and kept her eyes cold and distant, Anna Milton emulated her, her eyes darting to the woman beside her and adjusting her posture accordingly. It was strange to Dean watching Joanna and seeing her look so natural in such an unnatural and harsh situation, in sharp contrast with Anna, who couldn’t help but slouch a little and then try to straighten up when she noticed it. What kind of an upbringing did Jo have, with this son of a bitch father, that such an unnatural stiffness had become second nature.

“Does that make him proud?” asked Anna, narrowing her eyes.

“I doubt it. It really doesn’t matter anyways. He passed away.”

“I hadn’t heard. I’m sorry,” said Castiel, his eyebrows knitting together.

Dean echoed Castiel’s sentiment, keeping his eyes on Jo, an impulse to reach across the small space between them and squeeze her hand making his fingers twitch before he turned back to his precocious dessert.

“Castiel,” she said suddenly, putting her spoon down without eating any of the ice cream, which had turned out to be bitter and tart when Dean had taken a mouthful. “You called this meeting. What exactly did you want to discuss?”

A dark look crossed the man’s features as he leveled his chilling stare on Joanna. “Leave our company alone.”

“I can’t do that. I own 40% of the controlling interest.”

“We’ll buy your stock back,” Anna said, leaning forward over the table.

Joanna turned towards her, keeping her back ramrod straight. She was in total control, and she knew it, and the Miltons were starting to feel it too. Dean could feel the almost friendly atmosphere dissipate completely like so much perfume blown away by a strong breeze and be replaced with open animosity from all parties. The shift had happened so suddenly, he had frozen, with a spoonful of bitter iced whatever halfway to his mouth.

“I’m sure that as CFO of your company, you understand that no matter what you do with the numbers on the spreadsheet, you can’t afford to buy me off.”

“Not right now, but we have a contract to build destroyers for the army, and with that money we’ll be able to buy back your shares.”

“There will be no contract. It’s been buried in appropriations. You won’t see a dime from that contract and your company will cease to exist.”

“How the hell did you pull that off?” Anna burst out loudly, pushing back from the table and standing stiffly, her fists closed tightly at her sides. “You sleep your way through the senate you vile slut?”

Joanna looked amused for a minute as she looked up at the raging Anna. Castiel stood beside his sister and put his hands on her shoulders. “Calm down, Anna.”

“I will not calm down. I will not sit here quietly while this bitch smirks and talks about tearing apart our work.”

“War is won through careful strategy, not through impulsive attack.”

Anna shrugged off her brother’s attempt to calm her and she stormed off towards the exit. “Please excuse my sister. She can get very… passionate. It was a pleasure to meet you, Dean.”

Castiel held his hand out to him and he hurriedly stood up to shake it.

“Passion is weakness in this game, Castiel,” Joanna told him from her chair.

“Funny. Your father told me the same thing. Savour your night’s victory, Joanna. I won’t let you destroy what my father created. I’m going to tear you apart.”

The sudden ferocity in Castiel’s words surprised Dean and he found himself shifting ever so slightly, squaring himself in front of the other man, trying to look imposing, reacting to the threat to Jo. Cool as ever, she answered: “I look forward to it.” Castiel didn’t bother shaking her hand before turning on his heels and following in his sister’s footsteps.

Joanna’s heart was pounding in her ears as she watched Castiel’s receding back. When he was completely out of sight, she slouched back against her chair, letting out a relieved sigh. Dean turned towards her with a question on his face and she blinked at him, unable for the moment to relax her face enough to show any other emotion. They had shaken her. She could at least admit it to herself. Whether it was the casual way Castiel had brought up her father, or Anna’s slow wind up and subsequent emotional outburst forcing her own father’s hated words right out of her mouth, it didn’t matter. The result was the same. She was rattled.

Dean sat back down slowly, and the servers swooped in like magic, removing the palate cleansing sorbets and replacing them with two steaks, leaving the Miltons’ places bare like they had never been there.

“Oh, thank God,” Dean murmured as he tore into the meat with gusto. Joanna simply watched him, suddenly exhausted from the night’s business, and glad for his distracting company. She laid her hand on his knee under the table, giving his leg a thankful squeeze before pulling her hand back. Dean finished his steak long before she even thought about touching hers. He looked up and saw her watching him, his eyes going to her plate, then back to her face.

“You’re not eating?”

“Not really hungry.”

Dean wiped his mouth on the cloth napkin and looked her over again. She wondered what he saw when he looked at her that way. She knew, and had gotten used to over the years, what her peers in the business world saw when they looked at her: frigid, unfeeling, cold-hearted, bitch. What did this man see instead? Could he see how vulnerable she really was? How starved for affection she was? Her business brain hoped dearly that he saw her the same as the rest of the world, because her composure depended on it, but a small part of her wished that maybe he would see through all that bullshit, and someone would finally see her the way she really was, not the way her mother and circumstances had made her.

“You wanna get out of here?” he asked her.

“More than anything.”

“We should probably get the check then. This place doesn’t really look like they would treat dine-and-dashers too nicely.”

Joanna huffed, her lips pulling into a tired smile regardless of her clinging to her composure. “It’s already been paid for. Zach took care of it when he booked it.”

“Oh! Goddamn, you rich people do everything fucking backwards.”

Composure or not, Joanna burst out laughing, covering her mouth with her hand as she tried to stifle it down again. Dean’s grin however stretched from ear-to-ear, lighting up his face and making his eyes sparkle with his own merriment. He was so genuine.

“Let’s go back to the hotel,” she said.

He stood up from the table and came to stand behind her chair, ready to pull it back out for her. “As you wish, m’lady.”

She stood up, holding her clutch in her hand, and then looped her arm through Dean’s proffered elbow, following his lead as they left the restaurant behind with relief.

Back in the suite, Dean disappeared down the hall to use the toilet and Joanna made to turn on her laptop again, maybe to check her email, or send out a memo to Zachariah who would undoubtedly be waiting up to hear how the meeting went. She stood at the desk, looking down at the blank computer screen and felt tired, like a wave of exhaustion had suddenly washed over her and drained her of her will to work. She looked up and her eyes were drawn to the windows, and beyond their glass, to the city sky, lit up by the buildings in a city that never slept.

She found herself pushing open the window on its door-like hinges and stepped out onto the balcony. The evening air was still warm, the summer sun having soaked into the stone of the parapet and she walked up to the ledge, leaning against it as she took in the nighttime cityscape.

“Hey,” said Dean from behind her. “I thought you said you never come out here.”

“And I thought you said that I should. So, there you go.”

Dean stood beside her and leaned back against the stone, facing the hotel. She looked over at him and noticed he had taken off his suit jacket and tie. He leaned back on his elbows in his trousers and shirt, the sleeves rolled up and the top two buttons undone like he had just stepped out of a fashion shoot.

“Man, dinner was insane. I thought my world dealing with pimps and drug dealers and violent clients was nuts… but that? You could feel everything just teeming under the surface, itching to get out the whole time… it was like a fucking horror movie. Not gonna lie, I was kinda relieved when Anna finally blew up. Holy Hell.”

“She had been doing well up until then. But the weak always crack.”

“I wouldn’t call her weak. She had passion. It’s obvious she and Castiel care about their company. I mean I get it. You spend time working on building something, you kinda get attached to it. My dad, he had this car, right? 1967 Chevrolet Impala. Growing up, we’d spend every weekend working on that thing. Tuning, maintenance, wash and shine, it didn’t matter, we’d find something to work on it. She was a fucking beauty.”

“What happened to it?”

“I don’t know. Dad threatened to sell it for scrap just before I took off. Part of me hopes he only said it to hurt me and that Baby is still out there, waiting for me to come get her.”

“Baby?”

He shrugged. Joanna watched him in the semi-darkness of the balcony, his face cast in shadows by the light coming at them through the suite windows. She let the silence grow between them, pierced through by the car sounds drifting up from the street far below them.

“You know what I think?” Dean asked her, turning around to lean forward.

“What do you think, Dean?”

“I think you kinda like Castiel.”

“What?” she burst out, surprised.

“I mean, yeah, what’s not to like right? That instensity… wow.”

“Are you sure that it’s not you who likes him?”

Dean shrugged, “Yeah, sure. I wouldn’t mind taking a tumble between the sheets with him. But what I meant was that you liked how he talked about his company. I don’t think you want to destroy it at all.”

“Whether I like him, or his company, or not, is inconsequential. You don’t make money by being “nice.” Feelings cloud judgment, and I won’t allow myself to get emotionally involved in business.”

“I can respect that. I’m the same way. That’s why Trickster says no kissing on the lips. It’s too personal. I don’t get emotional when I turn tricks for clients. I’m like a sexbot, I just get in there and do it.” Joanna raised her eyebrows at him, and he glanced at her quickly, looking like he had said too much. “Except… you know… when I’m with you.”

“Of course,” she answered with a chuckle. “Who exactly is Trickster?”

“Oh! He’s my roommate. Taught me everything I know about… you know.”

Joanna nodded her head and gazed out over the view of the city, lost in thought. “You and I are very alike, Dean. We both screw people for money.”

“Yeah… but my clients are usually satisfied when I do it.”

“Shut up!” she suddenly burst out, pushing him in the shoulder. What was it about him that made her feel like she was being teased by a crush in college? She wondered, shaking her head.

“I’m sorry about your dad. That sucks.”

“I hadn’t spoken to him in 10 years. Alive or dead, what does it matter?”

Silence crowded in once more as she thought about her father and the harsh upbringing she got because of his leaving. She was dangerously close to plunging into a dark place, but then Dean shifted over and wrapped her in his warm arms from behind, pulling her back against his body, his arms crossed over her chest and holding her tightly. 

“Tell you what, I think all this bullshit calls for some Netflix and Chill. We’ll call room service and have them bring up every flavour of Ben & Jerry’s ice cream they can get their hands on and we’ll just watch horrible movies and pass out on the couch. How ‘bout it?”

“Thanks, but no. You go ahead and do whatever you want, I’m going to go downstairs for a while.”

She pulled herself out of his arms and walked back into the room and straight through to the door. As she shut it behind her, she took a shaky breath, a single warm tear running down her cheek and under her chin before she wiped it away and pressed the button for the elevator.

Dean turned off the television as the credits rolled from the bottom of the screen. He was lying on the long sofa, his head propped up by four pillows he had scavenged from the unoccupied bedrooms in the suite (turns out there were three total bedrooms in the place… and they each had their own bathrooms, because why the hell not?) He had also found a fresh hotel bathrobe hanging in the main room, the one he had worn that morning whisked away by housekeeping in their sweep of the place. He had showered, washing his freshly cropped hair under the hot water, the length alien and strange, and he just kept running his hands through it. Coming out of the bathroom he had pulled a fresh pair of black cotton boxer-briefs from the package Pamela had thrown at him during his earlier shopping make-over. It had been her idea to get the haircut. The woman had impeccable style that’s for sure. It had been easy to get along with her, easy also to forget that he hadn’t been hanging out with a close friend back home.

Dean glanced over at the clock on the wall while rubbing at his tired, scratchy eyes. It was going on 3AM and he hadn’t seen Jo since she had disappeared from the room, claiming to be going downstairs. His eyes landed on the chunky living room telephone and he stood up from the couch stretching his back. He picked up the receiver and sat on the arm of the chair, setting the phone’s base on his knee and hitting 0. After a couple rings, a woman’s voice answered.

“Front desk.”

“Uh, yeah, hi. I’m looking for Joanna Harvelle, from the penthouse? She went downstairs a while ago and she hasn’t come back yet. Is she still down there?”

“Yes, sir. Ms. Harvelle is in the ballroom.”

Ballroom? The hell? “Is there something going on down there?”

“No sir. She went in a few hours ago. Other than some of the staff, there’s no one else down here.”

“OK, thanks.”

Dean hung up, perplexed. What was she doing in the ballroom on her own? He put the phone back on the table, wondering if he should just go to bed. He turned his head and saw her laptop sitting on the little desk by the window. He remembered what she had said on his first night there about not having time to even step out onto the balcony. Yet tonight, following the heat of the business dinner, she had not only gone out to stand in the fresh air, she had disappeared without her laptop. Her clutch was still on the table by the entrance too where she had left it. He walked over to it and opened it, confirming his suspicion that she had left her cellphone behind as well.

He opened the door and walked out into the hallway, all thoughts of going to bed chased from his mind as he pressed the call button for the elevator. The doors were opening in no time, revealing the same young man that had worked the elevator the night before when he had arrived. Seeing the boy staring at him, looking startled, he thought back to what the manager had told him about not embarrassing the staff. “Uh, sorry. I’m probably underdressed for this. I just want to go see what… my cousin… is doing downstairs.”

The boy’s face cracked into a smile, “I don’t think it’s a problem, sir.”

Dean stepped into the elevator; the tiles cool under his bare feet. “OK, let’s drop the sir, alright?”

“Yes, sir.”

Dean cracked a smile as the doors closed. “What’s your name?”

“Adam Milligan?”

“Have you been working this elevator a long time, Adam?”

“Sometimes it feels like I’ve been trapped here forever, in this cage. Up, down, up, down… It never ends. Sometimes I think people forget I’m here at all.”

“Sounds rough, kid.”

“It’s Hell.”

The doors opened on the ground floor and Dean stepped out glancing around at the empty lobby. There was one person working the main desk, bent over a computer screen, and another moving a machine back and forth as it waxed the lobby floors with a high-pitched whine. “Where’s the ballroom?” he asked the kid from the elevator.

With a skittish, overly excited shine to his eyes, Adam stepped out of the elevator throwing nervous glances around the empty lobby like he was expecting his boss to pop out from behind the next column. He guided him all the way down to the back of the lobby where three sets of closed double-doors announced that he was standing in front of the ballroom. The kid scurried away back to his elevator before Dean could thank him. “Weird kid,” he commented out loud to himself before pulling open one of the doors and stepping into the lavish ballroom.

His eyes swept the room quickly, taking in the bare tables, chairs flipped up onto them, legs in the air to facilitate the cleaning. There were a few people lounging around, all in hotel uniforms, taking a break from their duties and settling in here to listen to music. He frowned and looked around the room again as he walked further inside, looking for the source of the notes. He thought it had been coming from some speakers, but as he moved past the table, the view cleared to a black grand piano, the player pounding away at the keys with a desperate intensity as she sang out like she was releasing her soul into the rafters of the empty room.

“You’re a candle in the window on a cold, dark, winter’s night. And I’m getting closer than I ever thought I might…”

Dean walked up to where Joanna sat at the ivory keys, feeling the eyes of the people in the room on him. “REO Speedwagon? Really?” he said as he leaned his hip against the black piano, facing Joanna as she stopped singing and the last notes faded into the room.

“Damn right, REO,” she said, pulling her hands away from the piano and fidgeting with them in her lap.

“Can’t say I’m a fan of the original, but you have a beautiful voice. I didn’t know you could sing.”

“Thanks. I only sing for strangers.”

As though to drive the point home, the scattered employees began to clap politely, and she smiled shyly. Dean moved to stand right in front of her, leaning back against the piano shelf, careful not to press down on the keys. “I was getting worried about you upstairs,” he said, lowering his voice to just above a whisper. “Thought something had happened to you.”

Joanna didn’t respond as she stared ahead at him, her eyes moving slowly up and down his robe-wrapped body. He looked at her, realizing that other than her having finally kicked off her damn shoes, she was still dressed for dinner, her hair still twisted up tightly. He could feel the growing intensity in her eyes and her posture as she kept on staring at him hungrily.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I believe the show is over for the night. Please make your ways to the exit and remember to tip your waitress.”

With a subdued murmur and a quiet scrape of chairs, the staff cleared the room, the ballroom door squealing shut behind the last grey shirt and red vest clad employee. Joanna huffed, her shoulders bouncing up before settling back down in a slight hunch.

“You, Dean Winchester, have charisma. Only way I could’ve gotten them to leave would have been to sound like a complete fucking bitch.”

“No,” Dean said with a frown and a grimace, “That was nothing. Most of the time, people don’t even notice me. Or I’m just gum under their shoe… sticky and disgusting.”

“That’s not true. I saw you at dinner. From the moment you sat down at that table, you had their complete attention. You could have asked for the world, and they would’ve bent backwards to give it to you, Dean.”

“OK, now you’re exaggerating.” She was looking forlornly at a point just right of his hip and he frowned. He slipped away from his spot against the piano and sat on the bench beside her. “I don’t think you’re a bitch, Jo.”

She leaned her head against his shoulder, and he brought up his arm to craddle her against him. “That’s just because I’m paying you.”

“I hate to break it to ya, sweetheart, but you’re just paying me for sex. My price is way steeper when it comes to being a yes man.”

She turned her face into his shoulder, letting out a thin laugh. He saw the gem encrusted comb tucked tight against her head, holding her hair in place and he reached up to pull it out, freeing her blonde locks. He ran his fingers in the softness, making it cascade down past her shoulders. She pulled back slightly and he cradled her head in his hand, pressing a gentle kiss into her forehead.

She pulled on the terry cloth cord tied around his waist, and she parted the panels, laying her hands on his bare skin. She smoothed her hands up to his shoulders and pushed the bathrobe back, making it fall away from him with a quiet whoosh. He tried to ignore that he was sitting in a fancy ballroom of a swanky hotel in nothing but his boxer briefs. He put it out of his mind, turning his focus on Jo, as her hands continued to take inventory of his body: his shoulders, his arms, his chest. He felt her tracing the edges of his occult tattoo over his heart.

“You sure you want to do this here?” he asked her as he ran a hand up along her thigh, pushing up the skirt of her dress.

Her arms wrapped around his neck and she sighed against his skin as his hand cupped her firm ass. He wrapped his other arm around her waist tightly and swung her around to straddle his lap. She leaned forward into him, her lips coming down towards his as she closed her eyes. Dean pulled back his face just before she could press her mouth to his and her eyes opened as she held him tightly around the neck and shoulders and brought her face closer to his again. Dean dodged her lips once more and curled his arm against her ass, pulling her up higher on his lap roughly to rub against his budding erection. He rolled his hips as he held her high on his lap, and he kissed her exposed neck, running his free hand through her soft hair again.

He licked and suckled at the sensitive skin on her neck, pulling at her dress to reach more, as he rolled against her again. A sigh escaped her lips as she dropped back her head and rocked against him too. He curled his arms around her again, and he stood up, holding her tightly against him. She wrapped her legs around his waist, squeezing him. He set her down on the piano and pushed up her skirt. He could feel the cooler air of the open ballroom space tickle his warm skin as he kissed and nibbled at her exposed shoulder, while his hands moved over her body, massaging and petting her and guiding her to lie back on the piano. His hand closed over one of her breasts, the nipple hard through the thin dress and bra.

He drew his hand back, going down her stomach and right over her pussy to her leg. He massaged her legs with his hands, leaning down to kiss and suckle the sensitive skin of her inner thigh. He guided her legs to rest on his shoulders and pulled her in closer, bringing her panty covered pussy close to his face. He rubbed a finger against her slit through the thin fabric, feeling the moisture quickly soak through as he drew her first moan from her throat.

God, he was getting turned on just from how sensitive she was to his touch. He reached down and rubbed himself slowly, making himself hard and ready for her. She moved her hips, pulling on his shoulders and drawing him in closer to her again. He brought his hands back up to her, wrapping one arm around her leg as he kissed and nipped at her straining thigh. He pulled her panties aside and slicked his fingers up in her wetness before rubbing slow circles around her clit.

She writhed, practically forcing his fingers into her on his next pass along her slit, and he gave her what she wanted, pushing two fingers into her roughly. She arched her back almost completely off the piano, a moan pushing out of her throat regardless of her tightly pressed lips. He lost no time pleasuring her, increasing his rough ministrations to her encouraging moans, finding his fingers digging into the skin of her thigh as her legs began to twitch and press against his head and shoulders. He pushed up her skirt roughly, letting her leg drop off to the side, hitting the piano keys loudly as he kissed and suckled the skin of her belly while he fucked her with his fingers. She squeezed him tightly, her toes playing discordant notes as they curled against the keys. He returned his focus to her clit as he rubbed slick circles around the hardened nub, faster and faster until she came undone, all her muscles tensing, her hand coming down to squeeze his tightly.

Her breathing was shallow, and he watched her stomach rolling to the rhythm. He was surprised to find that his own heart was beating slightly faster than usual. He dismissed it, blaming it on the semi-public setting Jo had chosen for the night’s sexcapades. Joanna sat up drawing his attention to her again, her hands reaching for him. She ran her nails through his hair, along his scalp sending a shiver through his body. She clung to him, pulling him towards her chest, even though he couldn’t move any closer because of the keyboard. She pulled at him almost desperately, her hair falling around her face as she looked both completely wrecked and ready, wanting more. She practically pulled herself off the piano and his arms wrapped around her to catch her and hold her against his chest.

Dean set her down on her feet and she pressed herself to his body, her hands petting and exploring the shape of him: his shoulders, his chest, his stomach, and lower still to his cotton clad hips. She seemed to hesitate then, her hands stilling a half a second before she drew them away, taking a step back. He leaned down, his hands on her ass drawing her back in as he nuzzled her neck and sucked on her earlobe. “It’s OK,” he said, surprised at how rough his voice was sounding. He took her hand and laid it on his hip before going back to massaging her lower back and ass. Her touch was featherlight as she moved her hand to press against his hard cock. Dean sighed in her ear and she became bolder, cupping his balls gently and fondling them.

He pulled her roughly against him, feeling himself cradled between their hot bodies. She was clinging to him, her mouth exploring his body the way her hands had just before, and Dean found himself gripping her more tightly, kneading any part of her that he could through her dress: her breasts, her ass, the little swell on her trim waist.

“Tell me what you want, Jo.”

“I want you, Dean.”

He bent down, reaching into the pocket of his discarded dressing gown, the garment still draped over the piano bench, and he pulled out a condom. His hands were on her again in a second, and he guided her to the side of the piano, pressing her back against it and pushing his cock against her. He kissed her neck, her face, while his hands gripped her tightly. She wrapped her arms up around his shoulders and held him close, drawing herself up on the tip of her toes to give him more access to her neck and shoulders. When he reached his hand down and pulled up her skirt, slipping back into her panties, she moaned in his ears, the sound of it sending an electric shock running down his spine and into his balls.

He turned her around roughly, leaning her forward against the piano top. He drew her skirt up again, draping it over her back, exposing her lace covered ass. He quickly pulled down her panties and spread her legs with his knee.

“Is this what you want?”

“Yes!”

She was breathy, and hot, and wet and ready for him. He pushed his boxers down just below his ass, freeing his cock with a bob. He lost no time tearing open the foil packet and rolling the condom down over himself, so he could line up with her slit. He rubbed himself along her slick opening, butting forward against her clit and running his swollen head down her sensitive lips and then back again. When she started pushing her hips back against him, he lined himself up and pushed into her slowly, controlling her with his hands on her hips to stop her pushing back against him too hard. She gasped and moaned and he could feel her tight walls clenching at him, drawing him in and pushing against him at the same time.

She let out a shaky sigh as he bottomed out, his hips flush to her ass, his cock pushed deep inside her. He paused a moment, checking her body language, reading her to see what she liked, what she wanted. She moaned and her fingers gripped the smooth piano top as he drew back slowly, not quite pulling out, before pushing back into her just as slowly, torturously, deliciously.

“How do you want it?” he asked her as he continued to fuck her slowly, her sighs more frequent and her hips trying to move against his steadying hands. She wiggled her ass, trying to gain control, but he just held on. “Tell me, Jo. What do you want?” he pushed into her faster, rougher, but still in perfect control and she moaned.

“Hard,” she breathed out between thrusts.

Dean increased his thrusts and she moaned and writhed, and he loved it, loved how intense she was and how purely she expressed her pleasure. “You’re so beautiful when you moan like that,” he whispered, wrapping one arm around her waist and holding her in place while he fucked her, thrusting deep and hard and fast.

“Oh, God! Dean!”

“Fuck!”

He slipped his free hand down into her folds and slicked up his fingers while he hammered into her, the sounds of her moans starting to fill the large room and bounce back without making it out the closed doors… or so Dean hoped. His fingertips well lubed, he sought out the hardened nub encased in the folds of skin and he applied gentle pressure, letting their moving bodies do the work. Her reaction was instant, she straightened up, pushing back against him hard and he rubbed her while he held her around the waist and she came hard against him, her walls squeezing him tightly inside and she let out a half-moan, half-cry as she trembled in his arms.

He held her tightly, nuzzling her neck and whispering sweet nothings and praise into her ear. Slowly, Joanna came back down and seemed to regain awareness of her surroundings and the state of their clothes. She stepped away from him and he felt his still hard cock fall out of her, missing the pressure of her sex wrapped tight around him. She bent down quickly and pulled her underwear back up, smoothing her skirt down. Dean stood naked by the piano, his boxers down to the middle of his thighs and he ached for the heat of her as he watched her retrieve her shoes from beside the piano. He removed the empty condom and reluctantly pulled up his underwear to cover himself up, though he tented the thin fabric obscenely. Joanna turned and held the bathrobe out to him with a shy smile though she wouldn’t meet his eyes. He grabbed the cloth where she had it bunched in her hand, holding onto her through it until she looked up at him. He gave her an encouraging toothy grin and she blushed, making him smile even wider.

“We should get back upstairs,” she said, glancing at the doors.

“Anything you want, sweetheart.”

He swung the thick bathrobe behind his shoulders and stuck his arms through the sleeves and they headed back out of the ballroom. He dropped the used condom in the trash by the bar on the way out and tied the robe shut again. He caught up to Joanna as they neared the elevator and they stood shoulder to shoulder like awkward teenagers, avoiding Adam’s round eyes in the mirror as they went up. Just before the doors opened on the top floor, Dean felt something cool touch his palm and Joanna slipped her hand in his. He closed his fingers around her hand, and they returned to the penthouse, a distant clock chiming 4AM.


	9. Tuesday, Bathtub Confessions

The sun came streaming in and lighted on Dean’s face turning his blissfully dreamless and solid sleep into a sudden blinding splash of red. He groaned and rolled onto his back blinking away the glaring brightness. A dark shadow moved between his face and the window as Joanna approached the edge of the bed.

“Rise and shine, Dean.”

“I may rise, but I refuse to shine before coffee,” he said, his voice still sleep-rusty and low.

He let his eyes take in Joanna standing by the bed and was disappointed to find her fully dressed and standing straight and rigid. She was wearing a long pencil skirt with a matching blazer, either a light grey or some shade of greyish-green. Her face had her usual subtle makeup and her hair was twisted tightly against her head making it look like a conch shell. He thought of her perfectly dishevelled hair the night before and lay back against the soft pillows with a smile stretching his lips.

“You should let your hair down.”

“And you should get some clothes on.” She sat on the edge of the bed and held out something towards him. “Come on. Time to shop.”

Dean reached for it and felt the stiff plastic card. He rolled onto his hip and leaned up on his elbow, looking down at it. His good humour was quickly disappearing. “More shopping.”

“That’s what happens when you only buy the one outfit: you have to go back.” Joanna stood up again and started moving towards the door. “So, this time, go ahead and get a variety of things, alright? Get enough clothes for the rest of the week. Assume we’ll be attending a few daytime events and get some evening wear as well.”

“What? Like a tux?”

“Sure, go wild, but stay away from the gawdy prom tuxes, OK? Stick to classic.”

“Classic. Got it.” Dean dropped back down on the mattress and flopped the pillow onto his face with a groan.

He felt the bed dip again and Joanna picked up the pillow, looking right at him. “I’m sorry to send you out on your own again. I’d go with you, but there’s a bit of an emergency at work.”

Dean sat up, shoving aside the sheets, and sat beside her on the edge of the bed. “The deal with the Miltons?” he asked, rubbing his face to get the sleep out.

“Yeah. It looks like they’re not going down without a fight.”

A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth and her eyes were most definitely twinkling with excitement. “Sounds like you have your work cut out for you.”

“Oh, this isn’t work. This is the fun part. I was never one to go for the easy win.”

Dean nodded, turning the credit card around in his hands as he thought about the assholes on Rodeo the day before. Trickster would’ve known what to say to them. All Dean ever felt when people ridiculed him was the anger and then the shame.

“Do you want me to arrange for a personal shopper to help you out today?” Joanna stood up and walked out into the hallway.

“A what?” Dean followed her.

“A personal shopper. Style consultant, whatever you want to call them: someone who can help you dress you up.”

“You can pay people to do that?”

“Dean,” she said, walking up close to him and laying her hands on his bare chest. He automatically wrapped his arms around her waist and held her close as he looked down into her deep brown eyes, a coquettish smile playing on her face. “You can pay people to do just about anything.”

Dean marvelled at the change in her. He remembered their first night when holding her had been like holding a wooden post she was so stiff, nothing to do with how she was molding herself to his body now, her fingertips brushing his morning stubble distractedly. “Fuck, Jo,” he whispered, feeling himself aroused by her self-confidence. He moved his hand down her back and over her ass, cupping the plump cheek and pulling her against him.

She pulled out of his arms and suddenly looked uncomfortable as she straightened out her perfect, wrinkle-free outfit and checked her hair. “You should shave that stubble while you’re out, go with your fresh new haircut.”

“I thought women liked their men to look rugged and handsome.”

“No reason to put up with the itch when you can look rugged and handsome with a smooth face. I’ll ask at the front desk for them to find you someone to help with the shopping.”

Dean cleared his throat. “Uh, yeah, don’t bother. I think I know someone I can ask for help.” By the disapproving angle of her head, he could tell she thought he meant one of his friends from Hollywood. “Trust me.” He bent down and handed her the satchel with her computer. She took it from him, and suddenly she was the no-nonsense businesswoman he had had dinner with the night before. She was formidable.

“I’ll see you tonight.”

“With bells on,” he answered with a grin.

She narrowed her eyes at him a moment before turning around and leaving the suite. Dean looked around absently, wondering where he could get some coffee, and something on the table in the dining area caught his attention. He walked up to it and picked up the heavy, padded leather folio. Opening it revealed a menu like in a restaurant, from food for every (expensive) taste to a list of wines and spirits. His stomach rumbled when he saw the breakfast foods. He walked over to the phone in the living room and picked up the receiver dialing 0.

“Front desk,” answered a smooth, young, male voice.

“Yeah hi, I’d like to order some room service. For the penthouse.”

“What’s your order, sir?”

Dean ordered himself an obscene amount of food, unable to decide whether he wanted waffles, or bacon and eggs.

“Will that be all, sir?”

“Oh, actually no wait. Is the manager in?”

“Mr. Singer is here, yes. Is there something I can help you with?”

“Uh, no. I’d like to talk to him, please.”

“I can assist you with whatever you need, sir.”

Dean frowned. “What I need is to talk to Bobby. Can you put me through, please? Tell him it’s Dean, from the penthouse, and unless he wants me to come down to his office in nothing but a leather harness and a thong, I need to talk to him.”

“One moment, sir.”

With a chuckle Dean waited until he was on hold and then hung up the phone. He didn’t have to wait long for the phone to start ringing.

“Dean Winchester, my pain is your pleasure. What’s your flavour?”

“WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU PLAYING AT?”

Dean could barely contain his amusement as he sat down in the armchair. “Good morning, Bobby. How are you this fine ass day?”

“The balls on ya. It’s Mr. Singer to you. Did nothing sink into that thick noggin’ of yours yesterday? I will have you out on your ass, son, if you don’t cut the bullshit.”

“Yes, sir.”

“What is so goddamned important that you had to rile up the staff about it?”

“You think Pamela would be available to help me out again today?”

Joanna sat at the head of the oblong boardroom table reviewing a spreadsheet of numbers in columns that all added up to impending disaster. Around her, the suits were getting loud in their discussions. Somehow, when it came to the men, anger and heated arguments were the norm in the business boardroom, but she had to be cool, calm, collected at all times, or they would accuse her of being a woman and too emotional to handle being at the top of the food chain. Zachariah was the worst one. He never hesitated to condescend and diminish her, sometimes so subtly it almost wouldn’t register with her, except for that little twinge of disgust and frustration that made her want to wrap her hands around his fleshy neck and choke the life out of him.

She clicked on the pop up from her emails, informing her the latest stock market analysis was in. She read the numbers grimly. She tuned back into the discussions around the table, to see if the brainstorming had yielded any results or if they were still going around in circles.

“They can’t be seriously…”

“… in the current market…”

“That’s the word on the street, people, Milton is raising the offer, so can we get our heads out of our asses and come up with a solution here?” Joanna always did enjoy watching Zachariah’s face go beat red. “What the hell am I paying you for?”

Joanna held back a smile, keeping her face stone cold, but digesting the news with relish. She had not underestimated Castiel and Anna. The Miltons had come back with a vengeance and were countering.

“With the navy contracts buried, how are they getting the money?” Joanna said quietly.

“Goddamn it, would everyone just shut up? What did you say, Joanna?”

“They’ve got to be getting the money for this from somewhere, you can’t just pretend you have the funds to bluff with, you have to show you’re good for it. So where are they getting the money?”

“Maybe he’s throwing in with the employees,” one of the pups threw her way with a sneer. She was so tired of dealing with that kind of bullshit insolence.

“It’s Daniel, right?” she said coldly. He nodded his head. “Suggestions and brainstorming are tools to share intelligent ideas. If you’re going to be a dumbass you can get the hell out of my boardroom.” She locked stares and refused to blink as he slowly lowered his gaze and turned away. With a smirk she went on, straightening her spine again. “So, can anybody tell Dan here, why his suggestion is not worth our attention?”

Everyone was silent. Of the six associates around the table, only two dared to maintain eye contact with her, the rest were either staring at the table or shooting furtive looks towards Zachariah sitting on her right.

“He needs an investor. Someone to underwrite the paper.”

“Thank you, Zach. So, how’s about you earn your paychecks today, gentlemen, and find out who that is.”

Joanna had not raised her voice, had not shouted, had not so much as spoken above a regular, mild conversational tone, and yet she knew that by the time the associates had cleared the room to get back to their desks to run a few inquiries, she will have been referred to as a bitch or a cunt or worse by each and every one of them.

“You need to be careful, Joanna.”

“Careful about what?”

“There’s only so much abuse they’ll take before they turn around and walk away.” Like all the men in your life, she could almost hear him say in the silence.

“You yell at them non-stop, insult them plenty, but I’m the one who has to be careful? I’m getting pretty fucking tired of your constant undermining, Zach.” She tried to calm her boiling blood and steady her anger, but it was too late.

“Are you on your period, Joanna? Is that it? Maybe you should go back to the hotel, lie down for a while.”

Keeping her voice calm and level she told him: “My anger has nothing to do with hormones. We have a deal to close here, Zach, so why don’t you go figure that out, go earn your paycheck like the rest of them.”

Zachariah stood up from the table and walked out, leaving her alone with her buzzing thoughts. She stretched her legs and walked around the room, pausing thoughtfully in front of the aerial picture of the Milton shipyard.

It felt like barely a few minutes had passed, though it was really almost an hour, before Zach was back in the room, a wide smile on his face that held nothing warm, only the cold promise of victory at any cost. “We got him! His balls are on the chopping block, Joanna. You were right. He mortgaged everything he owns, down to his skid-marked underwear, to get a loan from the bank. That’s how he’s financing the buy-out. And you’ll never guess which bank.”

“American Business?” she said without excitement as she pulled a picture of the shipyards out of a manila folder on the table and sat down again.

“You bet your ass he did! And they definitely care about our business much more than they do a floundering ship maker. All you have to do now is call the bank, and we can bronze those suckers, short and curlies and all.”

Joanna refrained from saying anything about Zach’s obsession with Castiel’s balls and stared at the table thoughtfully. She nodded agreement with him to placate him, but her mind was elsewhere – and where that was, she wasn’t entirely sure, if she was being honest with herself.

“Seriously, Joanna,” Zach said, turning one of the executive chairs and sitting down at the table facing her. “What is going on with you this week? We’ve been working on this deal for half a year, and now you’re giving Milton the chance to get away?” He pushed the boardroom’s telephone towards her, like maybe it was just out of her reach, or maybe she hadn’t noticed it sitting there, and Joanna felt tired. “That’s cute, Joanna.”

She looked up at Zachariah, wondering what his sarcastic tone was about, and he pointed to something on the table in front of her. She looked down with a mild startle, to find a perfect origami boat folded together from the aerial photo of the Milton Industries shipyard. She hadn’t even noticed she had been playing with it, much less that she had turned it into a paper sculpture.

“I used to make these when I was a kid. I made all sorts of things. I used to build intricate labyrinths and forts out of pillows and furniture. Even helped to build a tree house one summer when my mother had been dating a carpenter.”

“OK. I liked Monopoly and Risk… what’s the point, Joanna?”

She turned to look at the lawyer’s shrewd grey eyes. “We don’t make anything.”

“We make money. A lot of money. So, let’s seal this deal. Milton’s pants are around his ankles. It’s time to fuck that puckered anus and destroy him.” Joanna flinched at the graphic imagery. Zach could be so horribly vile, and had been for so long. She wondered why she had put up with it, why she continued to put with it. Could it be possible that she had gotten used to it?

She reached for the phone and called the bank, getting redirected to the accounts manager. He grovelled and kissed her ass for a solid five minutes, thanking her as always for her business, before finally getting around to asking her why she was calling. She saw no point in pussy footing around the bush, and within another five minutes, Castiel’s battleship was sunk, and the loan was dead in the water. She hung up, feeling slightly nauseous.

“Thank you, Joanna.”

She waved him off, wanting for all the world to be left alone with her thoughts.

“Joanna, you have to get your head in the game.”

“Excuse me?”

“I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but you really cannot afford to be weak and weepy and change your mind like some woman.”

Joanna felt the words like a slap to her face and she resisted the urge to jump at him with claws extended. Instead she calmly packed her laptop away, along with her notes from the day’s meetings and stood up. She nearly walked out of the room without saying anything, but then her need for gratification and payback overcame her struggle with her shame and she turned around again, setting her briefcase on the ground. She walked right up to where Zachariah was still sitting in the executive chair and she leaned down onto the armrests, feeling empowered by how he pulled away, pushing against the back of the chair with nowhere to go.

“I am a woman, Zach, and you work for me. So, please try to remember, you do what I ask you to, not the other way around. I’m not one of your meek little mistresses that let you tie them up and beg your forgiveness for the shit you do to them. You undermine me again and I will fire your ass, got it?”

She didn’t wait for a response. She pushed away from his chair and walked across the room to where she had left her satchel. “I’m going back to the hotel. Call me if anything needs my attention. Otherwise, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Dean felt giddy inside. Excited. Like it was his birthday and he was waiting to blow out the candles on his cake. Why he felt that way though was a complete mystery as he sat quietly, wondering when Joanna would be back. Would she be working late? God he hoped not as he wiggled on the dining room’s padded chair in nothing but his brand new, black satin thong, nibbling on the grapes from the basket of fresh fruit the hotel had delivered at some point during the day when he was out shopping with Pamela. The room was temperature-controlled at a steady 72 degrees but between his giddiness and lack of clothes, he could feel his skin break out in goose flesh every few minutes.

When he heard the key card scraping home into the reader and the handle twist, he propped his legs up on the table and crossed his ankles, lounging against the chair back. He crossed his arms on his chest and waited for Joanna to walk into the suite and close the door behind her, still hidden behind the wall that formed the entrance hall of the penthouse. Her heels clicked and her toes slapped against the wood in the entrance before she moved beyond the wall and straight into his line of vision. She was looking down at a page in the newspaper, her satchel still hanging off her shoulder. She obviously hadn’t spotted him yet.

“I hope you brought your appetite home, because I have that kielbasa you ordered,” he said, keeping his voice low.

She looked up with a frown and turned her head towards him. Her eyes slowly took in his naked body right when another shiver moved up his bare legs and raised the fine hair on his forearms.

“That horrible line take you all day to come up with?”

Dean gave her a sheepish grin, the tendons in his neck straining against the fine chain that held the uncut pink quartz against the hollow under his Adam’s apple. “I got it from Trickster; it’s one of his favourites.”

“Hmm… maybe you should give it back to him. Nice necklace, by the way. I would’ve gotten a longer chain though, that can’t be comfortable.”

“I’ve had worse. I got this for you.”

Jo nodded at him, but her eyes lost their focus as they slipped away from his naked body. His confusion grew when she put her satchel down by the base of the wall and walked away, down the hall and into the main bedroom. She pushed the French door with its semi-sheer white curtains closed until there was barely an inch of a slit of light spilling out from inside the room. Dean put his feet back on the ground and leaned forward on the chair trying to see what she was doing beyond the doors, but he couldn’t even see her backlit shadow. He sat back against the chair, confused, and a little worried that maybe he had done something she didn’t like, remembering her aloofness from the first night again. Had something happened at work?

“Come here, Dean,” he heard her call out from the room a moment later and he stood up, making his way to join her in the bedroom.

What he found waiting for him was a surprise of his own, wrapped in delicate black satin and lace. She stood by the bed in nothing but her bra and panties, a true boudoir vixen beckoning him to come closer with hungry eyes. Who was he to deny a lady what she desired? He moved to stand beside her by the bed and her hands pressed against his stomach, swept up his torso and kneaded the muscles of his shoulders. She reached behind him and he leaned in towards her as she undid the delicate clasp on the thin chain and removed the gem from around his neck. Dean could feel his Adam’s apple bob freely as he swallowed, something about her confident, deliberate movements sending jolts of arousal to the base of his cock.

She put the necklace down on the nightstand carefully and returned to exploring his body with her hands, caressing his skin up his torso and neck to his face. Her thumb slowly traced the edge of his lower lip, her eyes lost for a moment in quiet contemplation of his mouth. He didn’t think anyone had ever touched him in quite such an intimate way and something ran right through him like a shiver that twisted his stomach and made his heart pound once, hard, against his ribcage. Her hands moved on and soon she was petting his arms, squeezing his muscles and running the edge of her nails gently down to his hands. He reached forward to rest them on her hips, but she slapped him away as she brought her hands up his trim waist and, with a step closer, around to his back. She squeezed his ass and brought her lips to the center of his chest. Could she feel his heart through her lips? he wondered as he felt his pulse pushing the blood out of the chambers, into his arteries and down to his cock, swelling the tissues and making even the soft fabric of his thong feel tight.

Almost like she was following his train of thought, her hand moved to palm his growing stiffness. The warmth of her hand met the heat of it and Dean groaned as she smoothed up and down his shaft through the frictionless satin, the tip particularly sensitive as she ran her thumb across it. He felt her let out a shaky breath against his chest before she pulled away just enough to slip her hands under the elastic of his underwear and pull them down, careful to free his cock before bending down, dragging the only clothes he had down his long legs and around his ankles. He shook them loose, sending them flying somewhere in the room with a kick.

He felt her fingers wrap around his cock and drew in a surprised breath at how good it felt, having her touch him so unreservedly. He reached forward to grip her shoulder, but she slapped his hands away again, looking up at him sternly.

“Do we need a safe word?” he said half-joking, a smile playing on his lips.

She kept her intense focus on his eyes as she started to pump him slowly and he dropped his head back with a groan. “God, Jo.”

He brought his attention back to her as he felt her hand on his chest pushing him back and guiding him to the bed. He felt the mattress butt against the back of his knees, and he overbalanced, falling onto the soft, springiness. She didn’t immediately follow him, and he adjusted himself up into the centre of the mattress, stretching over to the dresser on the other side and pulling a condom and his cock ring out from where he had put them the morning after their first night.

He slipped the stainless-steel ring into his mouth, running his tongue along the inside, before pulling it back out and sliding it into place with a grunt. Jo had removed her panties and crawled onto the bed, straddling his legs as she watched him roll the condom down on himself. She looked at his junk, with a question in her eyes, and he guessed she might not have had a partner use a ring before.

“Helps keep me good and hard for you, babe. As long as you need it.”

She glanced up at him and her demeanour changed, almost like she had only figured out what to do up until this point, or maybe her brain had kicked in, smothering her natural impulses with years of negative conditioning. Carefully, Dean lay his hands on her knees. She didn’t slap him away this time and he smoothed up her thighs and held her firmly as he pulled her up his body, guiding her to kneel over him. He caressed her gently while holding her steady. With his other hand he gripped his cock and lined them up, so the head pressed against her lips, but didn’t push in. He moved his cock like a toy with his hand, running the tip up and down against her folds and raising his hips just enough to butt against her clit before running it back down.

Jo closed her eyes tightly and her hips moved against his steadying hand, responding to his half-teasing. When he pulled his cock upwards again, pressing it against her clit, she gasped. “What do you want to do?” he asked her as he focused on another pass of teasing. With a wiggle of her hips, she moaned softly, but that wasn’t good enough for him. “Tell me, Joanna.”

“Want you… inside me,” she gasped, her face already flushed, her eyes closed. So beautiful.

Dean pulled his hands away, tucking them back behind his head. “So, take me. Do what feels good. Don’t hold back.”

She opened her eyes and he smiled at her encouragingly. She had that hunger in her eyes again as she looked at him and he knew, without a doubt, that he was in for a good time. She reached down between her legs to take his cock in her hand, using him the same way he had been doing just before. She moaned and sighed, rocking her hips to rub her clit with his tip.

She held him steady against the press of her lips and slowly lowered herself. Dean felt the pressure against his sensitive head as she pushed against her own resistance. With sudden yield, he was thrust inside her and the pressure moved down his shaft, squeezing him as she sank down onto him sending a ripple throughout his body. He watched her carefully as she squeezed her eyes as tightly as the rest of her body, while she adjusted to him. She rocked her hips against his slowly, testing out the feel of him in this new position. She gasped as she increased her pace rocking faster. And then she let go of the last of her resistance as she moaned, the sound like music to him. He watched her pleasure herself on his cock and he didn’t know if he liked the stimulation along his shaft more, or the look on her flushed face, and the sounds falling out of her mouth like confessions pulled from her lips.

He put his hands on her legs, pulling one of her knees forward until her foot was on the mattress. She used the leverage to rock ever faster, harder, a cry of surprised pleasure coming out of her. Dean groaned, and she opened her eyes to look at him. Her pupils were blown wide, hardly a fine ring of brown left as her eyelids fluttered again. He reached up his hand and pressed his fingertips behind her neck and pulled her towards his chest. She fell forward against him, her face barely a breath away from his and he gasped as pleasure washed over him again. She pulled herself forward, sliding along his cock, and pushed back against him with a moan, and again… and again. She buried her face in his neck and he reached up to hold her against him, the temperature in the room escalating with their bodies bouncing heat off each other. Soft cries, and louder moans went from her lips straight into his ear and he rumbled deeply in his throat from the stimulation.

She straightened up again, away from him and she rode him hard, her hips rocking against him like he was a bucking bronco. Her cries became wilder as she pushed against his chest, trying to get more leverage. He grabbed one of her wrists and guided her hand against his thigh, forcing her to rock backwards. He knew the position would give her the leverage she was looking for. Her chest heaved out, her head thrown backwards, her breasts looking like two perfectly rounded mounds sitting atop a flat hill, he held her waist, watching her stomach ripple in and out like a belly-dancer, his cock disappearing into her over and over again. She was still going hard, but he could feel her rhythm slipping as she tired. She moaned and gasped and her face took on a desperateness that he could read in her frown and clenched teeth.

She slowed down even more, bringing herself back upright, and she was breathing hard, pushing herself to keep moving, wriggling her hips side-to-side. “Please… Dean,” she moaned, his name falling from her lips sending a shiver up his spine and making his short hair stand on end while his balls tightened reflexively. He gripped her hips tightly and held her above him as he thrust up into her, jackhammering her from below. She cried out as she steadied herself against his chest again. “Fuck, please,” she said, breathlessly, followed by gasps and moans and her fists closed tightly against him.

He licked the pad of his thumb and he applied the barest pressure against her hardened clit letting the friction from his still thrusting hips do the work. With a cry, Jo’s orgasm released, and she tightened around him, her nails digging into his skin where she gripped his arm. She bucked and rolled, and he massaged her through the pleasure until she gasped one last time and collapsed onto his chest, breathing heavily. His arms came up to hold her against him, one hand cradling the back of her head as he kissed her temple, letting her come down at her pace. When her breathing slowed back to normal, she didn’t move, and he kissed her temple again. “Are you alright, sweetheart? That looked intense.”

She nuzzled against his neck, and he rolled to the side, setting her gently on the mattress and pillows. “Gimme a sec, darling.” He freed his other arm and quickly discarded the condom and removed the ring, releasing the pressure on his cock, letting him relax. He rolled back towards her and found her lying on her stomach, her arms clasped against her chest and her eyes staring vacantly at a spot on the pillow where his head had been resting before. She looked pensive and forlorn, and Dean tried to understand what was going through her mind. He leaned onto his elbow and swept a loose strand of hair away from her sweat glistened forehead.

It was like the touch woke her from a daze and she focused on him again, her eyes clear. He spied the necklace on the dresser just beyond where she lay, and he reached over her to get it. He dangled it in front of her and a smile tugged at her lips. She pushed herself back to a sitting position, her legs tucked under her comfortably.

“The woman who sold it to me said that this is rose quartz. It’s supposed to purify the heart and heal relationships on a deep level. It’s also supposed to repel toxic people or something. I don’t know, it sounds like a bunch of woo woo to me, but I thought it looked pretty.” He kneeled in front of her and slipped either end of the chain beyond her neck, leaning over her shoulder to tie the clasp. His hand lingered on her neck, cradling her jaw while her hands felt for the large stone resting comfortably against her breastbone.

“How’s it look?” she asked him, moving her hands away.

His eyes took in her still heat-flushed body: a rosy blush on her cheeks, golden down covering her sex, her nipples pointing at him through her lacey bra, her hair starting to pull free from her twist, and said in a reverent hush, “Absolutely beautiful.”

Her eyes looked up shyly and the blush on her cheeks became more pronounced. He couldn’t look away, held captive by her doe-like eyes. In that moment, he could see her, completely and perfectly, unencumbered by her imposed self-image and her reputation, unburdened by how she presented herself to the rest of the world. Here, with him, she was open, and vulnerable; she was just a human craving what all humans crave: intimacy, warmth, love. She blinked and looked away first, breaking Dean out of his thoughts like a spell had suddenly been lifted. He took a deep breath and scooted out of the bed holding his hand out towards her.

“Come on,” he encouraged her, inviting her to take his hand. She slipped her fingers into his palm and he pulled her gently away from the bed and towards the washroom. She followed him, though he could feel her trying to pull away half-heartedly.

“Dean, I have work to do.”

He stopped and turned around to look down in her eyes again. “So do I,” he said with a wink, kissing her hands before letting them go so he could turn on the taps in the tub.

He grabbed the book of matches on the sink counter and lit the wide-based candles that he had set up around the room earlier that day in anticipation for an opportunity like this one. The light coming in from the hallway and the candles set the room in a soft glow and he moved back to stand in front of Joanna. She was back to looking sad and a little lost and he reached behind her to unclasp her bra. He smoothed his hands up her shoulder blades and down her arms, pulling the fabric away. He pulled her against him gently, warming her already cooling body with his furnace-like heat as he reached up and pulled the pins out of her hair one-by-one until the locks hung down behind her. He held her hand as she stepped down into the filling tub. With a quick thanks to hotels with deep, large jacuzzis, he sat down in the warm water, guiding her to sit between his legs. Using the telephone shower attachment, he carefully wet her hair as she hugged her knees to her chest and then he massaged shampoo into her scalp. With ever gentle circular motion, he imagined all her cares and worries just washing away and he could feel a quiet thrum in his chest as a quiet melody rumbled out and up through his throat.

“You’re very good at this.”

“I had a kid brother. I kinda raised him, in a way. I used to wash his hair all the time. ‘course… not really from this angle, so if I get soap in your eyes, I’m sorry.”

“I’ll keep them closed, no worries.”

Dean rinsed her head and ran his fingers through her hair, combing it back, away from her face before laying his hands on her shoulders and gently smoothing out the knotted muscles under her skin.

“Mmmm, did you learn that with your brother too?”

“God, no. I learned that behind the bleachers in high school.”

“You went under the bleachers to give girls back rubs in high school?”

“Well, among other things… and not just girls.”

“Oh,” she said, and Dean had to stop himself from chuckling at her sudden realization. “So, the guy thing… that’s not just for work?”

“Does that bother you?”

“Not at all, I’m just surprised.”

“Ah, well, it’s no big deal really. Not now anyways.” He reached forward and turned the taps off, the water rising to just below his chest and he pulled her backwards to rest against him while he leaned against the tub. “What was it like for you growing up?” he asked her, turning the conversation back to her.

“Oh, you know. I had a pretty typical childhood, I think. My father took off when I was 6 years old. Decided to start a brand-new family just far enough away that he didn’t have to worry himself about me and my mom. Basically left us to starve on the street. So, mom and I had to fend for ourselves, clawing and scratching our way through life. She spent every last dollar she had making sure that I grew up educated, cursing my father every step of the way. She taught me to be cold and unforgiving and ruthless. She taught me how to be a woman in a man’s world.”

“She sounds terrifying. What happened to her?”

“She died. A month before I graduated top of my class in business school.”

He tightened his hold around her shoulders. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m not. By the time I got there, I couldn’t feel anything but anger and resentment for my father. I blamed him for every misfortune in my life. I was very angry with him, and that bled into all my business interactions.” She scoffed and shook her head.

“What?”

“You know I paid nearly 50,000 dollars in therapy to be able to say that? “The reason I’m a cold, hard bitch is because I am angry with my father.””

“I would’ve been angry at the 50,000 dollars.”

“My father owned the third company I ever took over. I bought it, I tore it apart, and I sold it off for scraps.”

“What did the therapist say about that?”

“Said I was cured.”

Dean pondered this for a moment while he played absently with her hand in the water, but he failed to understand how that constituted a cure. “Did it make you happy?”

It was Jo’s turn to be quiet. She lined up the palms of their left hands and he looked down at the size difference, marvelling at how tiny she was. How could something so small and delicate contain such a force to be reckoned with as Joanna Harvelle? He interlocked their fingers and marvelled, not for the first time, about how often trauma was at the root of people’s personalities.

He kissed the side of her head in a spontaneous gesture of comfort, or affection, before he started shifting his position. “Alright you wrinkly prune, this water’s gone cold.”

He helped her out of the tub and grabbed one of the large fluffy bath towels wrapping her tightly and rubbing warmth back into her arms. A delicate tinkling sound like crystal clinking together in a breeze reached his ears and he realized that she was laughing. Her smile lingered as he turned her around to face him and he couldn’t help but smile right back. She managed to stick an arm out of her cocoon, and she handed him a fresh towel too. He quickly dried his shoulders and legs and wrapped it around his waist. “Let’s go to bed,” he told her, thinking about how nice it would be to fall asleep under the mound of soft sheets and down comforter, her naked body pressed against him, his arms wrapped tightly around her as she breathed evenly.

“I have a bit of work to do first, but you go ahead.”

“I guess if I can’t tempt you…” he dropped the towel on the bathroom floor, making sure to twitch his ass muscles as he walked out into the bedroom, pausing in the doorway to give her the chance to take it all in. He heard her quiet sigh, and that was enough for him. They still had four nights to go, she had to sleep sometime.


	10. Wednesday, Horses and Divots

The sun shone down through lines of trees forming canopies that sheltered car after car clustered in half hazard groupings of luxury, besides which the well-off folks of LA and area sat on foldable whicker chairs that were most definitely not bought at K-mart. Vendors at small tables and oversized parasols served tea and delicate sweets while others served tartar and filet mignon bites and chilled, lemon-wedged, distilled water all in the name of charity.

Dean’s stomach gurgled, hungry despite having stuffed his face again with the hotel’s delicious room service. He stared out the window of the car as they drove past, the view of a distant field sporadic through the other obstacles. The place was full to cracking with people all dressed in their very best “afternoon at the club” outfits in shades of light and lighter. They wove and rippled and stepped and leaned in the graceful, calculated moves of those who have done nothing but grease elbows and line wallets all their lives.

“What if someone recognizes me?” Dean asked, pulling at the open collar of his black, short sleeved shirt with the grey, stenciled palm fronds he had found so amazing the day before as he paraded it for Pamela, but now seemed like the wrong choice.

“No one’s going to recognize you, Dean. These people don’t spend much time on Hollywood Blvd, cruising to pick up hookers.”

“You’d be surprised at the kind of people who pick up hookers, darling. Besides, you did.”

“And aren’t you glad I did? Stop stalling. We have to get out there eventually.”

With a deep breath and a huff, Dean steadied his nerves and pushed open the door, bending back down inside to give Joanna a hand getting out. She was wearing a sleeveless, salmon-coloured, linen dress that fell to her knees with only a slight flare. It had a shirt-like neckline with a collar that opened just low enough to show off the pink quartz necklace Dean had given her the night before. Most of the women there had wide-brimmed sun hats to protect their faces from the blazing sun, but Jo did not, instead opting to tie her blonde hair back in a ponytail that twisted together into a big bobbing curl against her nape. She had switched out her usual stilettoes for more reasonable flat sandals that made her much shorter, her head coming up to just past his shoulder. Dean mused that he could almost rest his chin comfortably on her head.

She turned to face him, and she adjusted the collar of his shirt, giving his body an approving sweep of her eyes as she took in his black chino shorts that ended at his knees, and his new suede loafers that he was wearing without socks.

“You clean up nice, you know,” she said, her hand lingering on his waist, playing with one of the shirt buttons absently.

“You sure I won’t cause a scandal? I think I’m showing more leg than you.”

“You’ll be the talk of the town. They’ll write stories of the day Dean Winchester showed up on the green with his bare calves causing a scene.”

“Oh! Well, in that case, I should give them something worth writing stories about.” He pulled the gold-wire aviator sunglasses from his shirt’s breast pocket and plopped them onto the bridge of his nose, then he held out his hand to Jo. “Shall we?”

With a subtle smile, she took his hand and together they headed for the milling crowd and the thick of the action. It became instantly obvious to Dean that Jo knew absolutely everybody there. He was introduced to LA’s most prominent figures – political, business, and even entertainment… he tried to keep his cool, but he doubted very much that he came off as anything other than a goofball fanboy when he met Tara Benchley. “Man, I loved you in _Hell Hazers II: The Reckoning._ Classic horror. And Boogeyman? Great action scenes.” Dean was mortified just thinking about it.

It was also increasingly obvious to him as they mingled that the Joanna who was showing him around now, was not the same woman he got to spend time with at the hotel. This was the Joanna Harvelle that had coldly and methodically asserted dominance over the Miltons at dinner, the Joanna Harvelle that tore companies to pieces and sold them off in chunks.

“Joanna!”

Dean turned his head and saw a blonde woman sitting at the announcer’s table waving at them. Dean nudged Jo, and together they walked over to the stand. The closer they got to the green field, the more Dean tried to get a better look at what was happening. Horses kept trotting past, with people sitting in high saddles, bending down and scrambling for something that was clearly sitting on the ground being stomped by hooves. Dean wondered idly what would happen if the rider fell off in the middle of one of these skirmishes. A man sitting at the elevated table watched avidly and was commentating the match, his voice a never-ending drone of names and sports related actions that hopefully meant something to the other spectators, because to Dean it was complete gibberish.

“Dean,” Joanna said as they approached the stand, and the woman who had beckoned them over. There was a man sitting on the edge of the platform watching them too, “This is Naomi and Ezekiel. The infamous Di Angelo twins who made marrying well an art form.” She hadn’t needed to tell him the two were related, they looked like near exact replicas of each other, both willowy, stylishly dressed in white and tan, with cunning looks on their faces. Naomi was wearing a long flowing dress that could have passed for a simple bridal gown in a different setting, with a wide-brimmed beige sun hat and matching linen flower accents woven into the lace of her bodice. Ezekiel was wearing tan linen trousers and a matching vest over a crisp, white, short-sleeved shirt.

They had identical, plastic smiles and delicate refined features that gave them each that supermodel androgyny. Naomi’s narrow waist and decent bosom and Ezekiel’s squarer jaw and broader shoulders was almost all that set them apart from each other. The light grey eyes were identical, all the way down to how both sets flashed with curiosity as they were introduced to him, almost like their minds were connected. Their look of curiosity quickly turned to more lascivious interest, and Dean wondered if brother and sister might be the kind of twins to get it on with a stranger in between.

“Excuse me for a moment,” Joanna said, startling Dean as she walked away, leaving him with the twins.

“So, you’re the latest.” Dean turned to look at Naomi whose smile had gone cold and stern. “Good luck with that. That bitch will chew you up and spit you out. Just like all the other ones before you.”

Dean frowned as she turned back to face the match and exchange sarcastic, bored banter with the commentator. Ezekiel rolled his eyes and stood up. He was a good few inches shorter than Dean, and definitely not as broad in the shoulder, but his posture showed off his confidence and made Dean think that he was fully aware of his position in life as one of the top dogs. He had a glass of red wine in his hand and he sipped it slowly, savouring it while he assessed Dean from head to toe.

“Don’t mind her, she’s just pissed because Joanna stole her husband and then sent him packing. Came running home with his tail between his legs.”

Dean found himself frowning again, thankful for the aviator glasses that would hide most of his facial reactions from the man. He found it very hard to believe that shy as Jo had been in bed their first night, she was going around sleeping with everyone’s husbands. It seemed more likely to him that this was one of the many rumours that went around about her because of her cold, businesswoman reputation. Maybe Naomi’s husband had told her it was Joanna, when in reality he had stepped out with someone else altogether. Maybe the brother.

“Just you watch yourself, sugar,” Ezekiel went on, taking a step closer to Dean, close enough to be considered in his bubble. “Wouldn’t want that cold-hearted bitch to steal that sweet smile of yours.”

Dean nearly startled when the man’s hand landed on his bare forearm; how could a hand be that cold in the heat of a summer day like this one. Dean slowly removed his aviators and made a show of checking the man out the same way he had been checking him, feeling nothing but disdain for the leech. “Oh, don’t you worry about me. She and I are just two consenting adults enjoying fucking each other’s brains out. Excuse me.”

Dean walked away, slipping his glasses back on, thankful to feel the kiss of the sun on the spot on his arm where the man’s hand had been. He quickly spotted Jo standing off to the side of the field, watching the horses. The closer he got, the more he could see that what they were chasing after with their mallets was something that looked an awful lot like a golf ball.

“So, it’s like field hockey, but on horses… because why not?” he assessed as he stood beside her.

He could hear her light chuckle as her shoulders bounced, and he bent forward so he could see the glint of humour in her eyes. Her mouth though was resolutely set in its tight, neutral, pressed line of lips.

“So, why’d you leave me with the monster twins back there?”

“I can’t stand them, or their insipid gossip.”

“They had a few things to say about you, darling.”

She huffed. “I’m sure they did, those useless twats.”

Dean put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her back against his chest, bending down to kiss the top of her head. She stiffened in his arms, and he held on to her a little more tightly. “What are you doing, Dean?”

“Giving them a show.”

“That’s not necessary.”

“No, but it’s fun.” He turned his head and aimed to nibble the top of her ear, letting his tongue peak out past his lips, before pressing them together. “How do you think all these wound-up stiffs would react if I stripped you down and took you right here, right now?”

“They’d probably think it was about time someone put me in my place while they jizz their pants.”

Dean kissed her neck slowly, shaking his head at the mental image she had conjured up. “Good thinking. Probably best if you strip me down and fuck me with a strap on. Make them all squirm from your total power.”

He had been teasing her, saying whatever silly thing he could think of trying to get her to relax, but when she continued to stand stiffly, he unwrapped himself from her. He took her hand in his, bringing it quickly to his lips before lacing their fingers together. “Why are we here?” he asked more seriously.

“Business.”

He took in her cold tone, a little surprised, and disappointed that she was shutting him out like he was just another suit on the green, another man she had to impress, or dominate and destroy. From somewhere behind them, someone called Joanna’s name and they turned to face the newcomer. He was a tall, balding man with a slight paunch though he camouflaged it well enough with a black shirt and light grey suit. He was standing in the nearby shade of one of the lines of trees, his lips parted in a smile revealing teeth that looked more threatening than friendly. Joanna’s fingers tightened against his, entrusting him with her unease.

“Let’s go say hi, then.” Her voice did not betray what her hand had, and Dean’s respect for her singular control bordered on awe as she started walking towards the man. They drew up to him, and Jo sounded jovial as she introduced them. “Dean, this is Zachariah and his charming wife Urielle.” Dean nodded to the beautiful woman standing beside him; her skin was smooth espresso, glowing in the sun from beauty products that glimmered golden. Her dark eyes assessed him shrewdly, her plump lips set in that same neutral position that seemed to be a prerequisite of the uppity guests of the club. Jo went on with her presentations, while he turned his attention to the man. “Zachariah is my head counsel on the Milton deal. This is my new friend, Dean Winchester.”

Urielle held out a perfectly manicured hand, nails filed to points like claws, little pearls and gold dust encrusted in the cream coloured varnish. Dean took her hand in his and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Well, aren’t you just a fine specimen?” Dean smiled at the compliment, although he felt uncomfortable with her husband right there. “Then again, Joanna always seems to find handsome young men like you to bring to parties.”

Dean quirked his lips and bent down to give the woman’s hand a light kiss. “Trust me,” he said, straightening up again. “She’s never been with someone like me before.” He flashed the woman his million-dollar smile and wrapped his arm around Jo’s waist, while Urielle gave him a cool, appraising look. Then she turned and walked off without further niceties, her head held high as she surveyed the milling attendees for someone else to rub elbows with.

“Good to meet you, Dean. Joanna’s told me all about you.” The balding man smiled as he held out his hand, but there was no warmth in it at all.

Dean shook the man’s hand. “I doubt that very much,” he said giving him his most charming smile to counter the cold.

“Why don’t I get us all a drink? Here, Joanna, take this one.”

Zachariah gave Joanna the glass of red wine he had in his hand and Joanna held it out to Dean almost instantly. He took it from her looking at the red liquid skeptically. He would’ve much preferred a couple fingers of whiskey or bourbon.

“You’ll never guess who’s here,” Zachariah said, excitement in his voice. “Senator MacLoed!”

“I know,” Joanna answered coolly, “I invited him.”

The look on Zachariah’s face went from a child’s at Christmas to affected adoration. “That is why I have pledged my eternal love to you. Platonic love, of course,” he added quickly glancing at Dean. Then, keeping to the shaded treeline, he headed for the nearest refreshments table for the promised drinks.

“Wow,” Dean said, uncurling his arm from her waist and knocking back the contents of the plastic wine glass in one swallow, “That guy’s your lawyer?”

“I’ve been working with him for nearly a decade.”

“You could freeze ice on his wife’s ass.”

Joanna’s lips twitched as she looked up at him. “Maybe we’ll try that later.”

Dean looked around at the people again. “Are these psychopaths really your friends?”

“It’s a small world, networking is key to get to the top and stay there, so I tend to see them, a lot, at these types of functions.”

Cold. Detached. Professional. Dean contemplated her words and matched them up with her stiff posture and lack of expression and another piece of the Joanna puzzle fell into place. “Well, no wonder you came looking for me.”

Joanna turned towards him and there was something in her eyes, like a yearning or a plea for help. Maybe amongst all these riches in her life, and underneath all the armor she had built around herself while climbing the social ladder, maybe, just maybe, Joanna Harvelle wanted to be rescued.

Dean turned his attention back to the green field, noticing that the horses and their riders had trotted off somewhere unseen and all that was left was a churned-up sea of green and brown like a maniac had gone at the grass swinging a golf club.

“It’s that time folks! Time to get on out there and flip that green.”

Dean watched as the stuffy upper class started moving towards the open field with smiles gracing their faces. “What’s going on?”

“Stomping the divots,” Joanna answered nodding back towards the action.

Dean turned around again and watched in amazement as the rich and powerful flipped grass motes with their thousand-dollar shoes and stomped the roots back into the dirt.

The announcer’s voice continued to boom out loudly drowning out the light laughter. “Yes indeed, ladies and gents, the stomping of the divots, a tradition as old as the game. Kings and queens did this! But remember to beware the steaming divot folks!”

Dean’s smile stretched his face and he turned back to look at Jo expectantly. The corner of her lips twitched into a quick smile. “Go ahead.”

Dean bent down and kissed her cheek before heading out onto the field, the hot sun beaming down on him again as he searched for clods of grass to flip and stomp.

Joanna watched him walk away so confidently and felt the bubbling feel of laughter in her chest trying to escape as he first flipped one divot then started hopping from one overturned mote to the next like a kid jumping in puddles. She was forgetting her surroundings as she watched him, envying his genuine smile as he reached out to steady a woman who had stumbled. Joanna didn’t recognize her; she must be one of the wives. His rescue mission over, Dean went back to looking for grass to fix and Joanna considered joining him, if only to bask in his soothing authenticity.

“He’s so sweet, Joanna. Wherever did you find him?” the cold, unemotive voice of Urielle said from behind her, making her straighten her already straight spine.

She could have said anything, answered civilly, coldly, come up with a reasonable lie, but instead what came out was sarcastic and steeped in her disdain for the ice sculpture that was Zachariah’s wife. “Oh, you know. 973-BABE.”

Like he had heard her, even from the middle of the busy field, Dean looked up and flashed a brilliant smile their way, his whole face radiating his joy and Joanna simply couldn’t take another instant of the cold shade of Urielle’s presence. Not interested in seeing how her tone had been received, she moved out onto the filed to join Dean in his play. Impossibly, his smile stretched even wider as she drew near. He flipped a clump of grass right in front of her and she grabbed his arm as she stamped it down. He did it again and together they stomped divots, Dean’s laughter ringing out over the field as she stomped his foot by accident. His good humour felt so out of place here, surrounded by these plastic people that she worked with, and interacted with for business. Every moment spent with these people was always with the purpose of making deals, and yet here he was, without a care in the world, showing his true, unabashed self to the sharks and not even realizing there was any danger in the water.

Joanna suddenly felt her ankle give as she wobbled on a freshly turned clump and ever aware of his surroundings, Dean’s arms were around her instantly, just like they had been with the other damsel who had tripped on the treacherous lawn. And then she was weightless, flying through the air as she instinctively wrapped her arms around the nearest firm, stable thing at hand: his neck and shoulders. She was in his arms, and she could feel her body fighting her instincts to relax, keeping her stiff and rigid. Then, he started spinning and the giddiness was too much to resist and she felt her whole body release with the swoop in her belly as she let her head fall back and kicked up one of her legs, feeling safe held tightly in his arms. She wrapped her arms back around his neck and shoulders and smiled at him as they stopped spinning, but he kept holding her like she weighed nothing.

She would’ve stayed like that, with him, forever if she could, the world around them faded to insignificance. Let this moment stretch on forever, please. But then, he put her gently back on her feet and she sighed, resigned to putting her face back in order.

“Are you thirsty? I’m gonna go find some water.”

She smiled at him and he gave her hand a squeeze before walking off towards the treeline again and the booths beyond. Joanna slowly made her way back to the shaded trees. She liked the lingering giddiness in her gut, and she kept her eyes glued to him like a security blanket. She watched as he raised his head suddenly like someone was talking to him, which was when Castiel Milton appeared beside him. She watched them shake hands, noting that Castiel was still in his riding outfit, fresh off the saddle probably.

She noted with detachment that the happy, giddy feeling had vanished from her belly as she watched Dean’s relaxed stance and Castiel’s intensity. She couldn’t help but noticed that the man’s blue eyes were crinkled slightly as he spoke to Dean, too far away for her to hear what they were saying, but it was clear to her that he was much more relaxed than he had been at dinner, even with his company on the brink of falling apart. It was probably because she wasn’t there, she mused to herself. When Castiel smiled and Dean’s shoulders bounced with his laughter, she felt her stomach turn like it was full of soured milk.

“Don’t you think it’s time I got the story about your pretty boy there?”

Joanna hadn’t noticed Zachariah come up from the other side of the tree trunk and she turned away from Dean and Castiel to look at her lawyer. She could tell he was not amused. Well she was not amused by his condescending tone either and she contemplated telling him point blank, but then she shook herself away from that dangerous train of thought and turned back to watching Dean talking with her current opponent. Had they moved closer?

“I got lost getting back to the hotel the other day and when I stopped for directions… there he was.”

“Wait… in my car?”

“Yup.”

“Alright.” Joanna could practically hear his teeth grinding together. “But, really? Joanna, what are the odds of randomly stopping and you just happen to stumble on this guy. I mean, come on. He’s Mr. Perfect. It can’t just be random coincidence.”

Joanna crossed her arms and turned to look at him again, silently agreeing that the odds were pretty out there, but it had happened, so what was she supposed to say beyond that? Zach was wrong about one thing though, Dean wasn’t perfect, he only seemed that way because that was his job.

“So, tell me more about him. Does he work?”

“Yeah, he’s in sales,” she said, remembering how Dean had said that exact thing at dinner with the Miltons.

“What does he sell?”

“Uh, you know.”

“No, I don’t know, that’s why I’m asking. I haven’t been able to find out anything about this guy.”

“I don’t suppose if I tell you to drop it you will?”

Zachariah laughed, shallow and disbelieving. “You must be kidding.”

“Why do you need to know where I found him? What does it matter?”

“What does it matter?” Zach’s eyes bulged as he shook his head like she was trying to convince him that angels existed. “I’ve known you a long time, Joanna, but the last few days? You’ve been different.”

“Watch it. I’m already pissed at you, don’t stoke that fire.”

“That’s what I’m talking about. You’re irritable, and explosive. And then randomly you start talking about making things, and… that tacky necklace! What the hell is that anyways?” Joanna reached up and closed her fingers around the crystal protectively. “Look, I’m just saying that you’re not acting like yourself, and I can’t help but think that boy wonder is the difference.” He paused, his unblinking eyes boring into her as she let go of her necklace and tried to regain her usual composure. He went on, oblivious to – or was he actively fanning – her discomfort. “Especially when I see him talking with Castiel Milton like lovers sharing a pillow.”

Joanna’s eyes looked up and focused on Dean again, noting his easy posture while he exchanged with Castiel: impish grin on his face, Castiel’s intense eyes focused on his face, standing close; much closer than necessary. Something roiled in her stomach as she watched them, Dean’s charm just radiating from him in all directions attracting glances even from those who were not a part of the conversation. What the hell could they possibly be talking about? But like hell was she going to give Zach the satisfaction of seeing her weakness.

“I introduced them at dinner the other night. Dean’s just being friendly because he recognizes him.”

“Or…”

“Or?”

“Just hear me out. You come into town to buy out this man’s company. Something that we’ve been working on for months and we’re ready to finalize. Milton has someone following your movements, just waiting for an opportunity to get information from you. And let’s say this man spotted you alone and figured he could swoop in and—"

“Zachariah. What the hell kind of late-night TV have you been watching?”

“I’m serious! Corporate espionage is real. You don’t know this man, and it just seems altogether too perfectly put together for it to be innocent! What part of this is funny to you?”

Joanna tried to suppress the smirk that had slowly spread on her face listening to his wild rantings. There was no way any of that was true. Not with what she knew, and how she had been spending her nights this week.

“There’s no conspiracy, Zach. Trust me.”

“That’s the thing, I don’t even know if you can trust yourself at this point. He’s been scrambling your brain getting you primed so he can get the missing piece he needs to report back to Milton and stick us in the muck and burry this deal for good.”

“You go too far. My judgement is as good as it ever fucking was. Watch it.”

“How do you know he’s not feeding Milton sensitive information right now?”

Enough. “Listen to me. He’s not a spy, Zach.”

“Yeah but—"

“No. He’s not a spy. He’s a hooker.”

She hadn’t intended on telling him, but it had come out, sharp and abrupt, and it brought him up short as he considered what she said. It was clear he thought she was making a joke because his face suddenly broke out in a smile that did not come close of reaching his eyes. He huffed out an uncertain laugh. “He’s a hooker,” she repeated more slowly, and the smile fell off his face entirely as he turned to look at Dean again.

“What?”

“I picked him up on Hollywood Boulevard. In your car.”

Finally, with a tilt of his head, and a dumbfounded look on his face, he believed her and she was relieved that the whole spy bullshit was over and done with. Her relief was short-lived however as the tall man suddenly burst into a full body laugh that had him rocking back and forth and bending at the waist.

“Are you kidding me? I mean, come on Joanna! I knew you were something else, but you went and picked up a bargain basement cocksucker to parade around?” He doubled over again. 

Joanna pursed her lips and ground her teeth together. Luckily, just then Senator MacLoed spotted her and started waving at her. Before he could take a step to join her and the laughing asshole, she walked away from Zachariah with a, “I’m sorry I told you,” thrown his way over her shoulder.

The fucking ass.


	11. Beware the Steaming Divot

Dean made his way back to where he had left Joanna with two glasses of water – because plastic bottles were the devil apparently – and a mix of lemon wedges and raspberries taking up half the space in the glass and making it impossible for him to swallow the contents in one go without risking choking. Jo was no longer standing by the trees next to the field and he did a slow three-sixty scanning the crowds. He caught sight of her on the other side of the line of trees. She was speaking to a man with dark thinning hair and a neatly trimmed more pepper than salt beard and a dark suit. He turned his eyes back to Jo and her calm composure. He smiled as he thought of the feel of her, relaxing in his arms as he spun her around in the sunshine like some Hallmark movie moment.

“Having a nice time, Dean?”

He turned around to find that the lawyer was standing beside him, his eyes locked on Joanna in the distance. Dean frowned, wondering what this man saw when he looked at Jo. Standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Zachariah, Dean realized they were the same height, though the lawyer had a chunkier build; too many hours sitting at a desk. Dean was caught completely off guard when the man’s hand suddenly pressed into his shoulder with a firm grip.

“I’ve been working with Joanna for a long time, and from the first moment she walked in and started giving the orders, I’ve had this craving, this need, to dominate her. To make her bow to me and my will.”

Dean frowned, what the fuck was this?

“Yet, every time I think I’m almost there, she manages to shake loose, and she takes control again. You know what I’ve learned from this experience, Dean?”

“What’s that?” he asked from behind his clenched teeth as the man’s hand smoothed slowly down his back.

“Patience. Because this phase of hers, it’s temporary. So, you managed to loosen up that tight cunt, big deal. You’re nothing but a maggot inside a worm’s ass. And when she’s through with you, she’ll come back to me, begging to be dominated.”

“What the fuck is your problem, man? She’s not just some object you can own. What kind of man are you?”

“What do you know about being a man? I know the kinds of things maggots like you do on Hollywood Blvd for $20.”

Zachariah had moved closer, his shoulders squared off, his entire demeanour screaming alpha male and as much as Dean had been enjoying himself, playing the part of Joanna’s boyfriend, the abrupt reminder of his position in life made him lower his eyes and flinch when Zachariah’s hand gripped his ass and smacked it.

“So have fun pretending while you can, but at the end of this, you’ll be back on the street and Joanna will be mine again.”

The man walked away waving at someone in the distance with his toothy grin, leaving Dean feeling humiliated and betrayed. How had he known?

“… a very special thanks to Joanna Harvelle Enterprises…” belted out Naomi’s cold voice over the announcers’ speakers.

He looked to where Jo was standing, and her head turned towards him. Their eyes locked for a moment before Dean looked away, struggling to contain his rising shame. Everywhere he looked, it was like he was catching people just looking away from staring at him. How many people knew? They all did. He was the fool at the party, thinking that he had blended in so perfectly, when really everyone was just laughing at him.

The drive back was in total silence. Dean knew he was brooding, but he didn’t particularly care when every time Joanna tried to speak to him all he could hear were Zachariah’s words. By the time they got back to the hotel room, Joanna had clearly picked up on his bad mood and given up on trying to talk to him. Dean knew he had to calm down. He didn’t understand the circumstances enough. She must’ve had a good reason for telling that asshole. Every time he tried to justify it though, he just got angrier, so by the time he walked through the door to the penthouse and past Jo, his stomach was churning with it in a way that hadn’t happened since he left Kansas.

Dean heard the click of the door as it closed, and he kicked off his grass and mud stained loafers. He walked over to the little bar beside the living room and poured himself a portion of whiskey. The liquid seared down his throat deliciously and he closed his eyes trying to corral his emotions.

“What’s wrong, Dean? You’ve barely said a word since we left the club.”

“Nothing’s wrong,” he said, drinking down the rest of his drink.

“Really? Because judging by that bitch face you’ve been making, everything is not peachy. So, spit it out.”

Dean rolled his eyes and considered pouring himself another drink. Instead he put the glass down and turned to face her.

“Why the hell did you make me go through all the trouble of putting on this dumb, snob outfit and pretending I’m your man if you were just going to tell everyone anyways?”

“What? Tell everyone what, Dean? What are you talking about?”

“Your boy Zachariah is what I’m talking about!” His anger burst forth and he could hear his raised voice, and he didn’t care. Damn it, he was fuming mad. And he had every right to be. “And, by the way, great people you surround yourself with, darling. Real peaches.”

“Calm down.”

“I will not calm down! If you were planning on telling people I’m a hooker, I coulda done that whole thing in my own clothes. That way when passive homophobic closet fucks like Zach come up to me and threaten me, I can deal with it. I’m not like you, Jo. I can’t just switch in and out of my roles at a snap of the fingers, OK? I can’t be Dean, the respectable boyfriend one second and then a cocksucking man-whore the next.”

“I’m sorry Zach did that. I’m not happy about it, but Dean, I had to tell him, he thought you were a friggin’ spy.”

“So, you find a better lie! You don’t go pass me around your friends for a good time. Fuck!”

“Stop shouting. It’s not like I made anything up about you. You are, in fact, a hooker, Dean.”

“Stop trying to control me! I’m not your fucking lapdog. I’m a person. No matter how much you’re paying me, you do not own me!”

“Jesus Christ! If I had wanted to deal with this kind of shit, I could’ve picked any of the men itching to get up my skirt next. This is not what I’m paying you for. Look, I said I was sorry about Zach, can we just move on, please?”

“How’s this for moving on, Joanna? I fucking quit.”

Dean stomped off down the hallway and into the bedroom, Joanna on his heels. She pushed on, her words like a vise around his stomach, churning his anger more as he began to grab his new clothes out of the closet.

“No, you don’t. I’m all you’ve got, Dean. What’re you going to do? Go back to turning tricks on that dingy corner? Be real.”

“No one on that fucking corner has ever made me feel as cheap as you did today. I refuse to compromise who I am for money.”

“You’re joking right? You sell your body on the street for money, don’t pretend you’re so high and mighty.”

“I like what I do. I like sex, and I’m pretty good at it. Can you even say that you like what you do? You destroy things people work their asses off to build.”

He turned around, his arms full of clothes, and pushed past her to head back out to the hallway.

“Where are you going, Dean?”

He stopped just this side of the doorway but refused to turn around to look at her.

“I told you. I’m done. I want my money, and then I’ll be out of your hair.”

Only silence met his words. It stretched on as he waited for her to say or do something. With a rustle of her skirt followed by a soft thump somewhere behind him, she moved around him and walked out of the room. Dean turned his head and spotted the discarded pile of bills on the bedspread. How could she treat him like he was just a dog to kick? His mouth filled with the bitter taste of his shame. He was empty, nothing, cheap, worthless, dirty. He left the money where it was, choosing instead to get the hell out of that place, and away from the shame.

He jammed his finger against the elevator call button, mumbling a rant of come on come on come on, that would hopefully make the cabin arrive faster so he could escape. It wasn’t quite fast enough and Dean stopped pressing the button and straightened his back when he heard the click of the penthouse door opening again. He refused to look at her, but he could feel her standing beside him.

“I’m sorry,” she said, and her voice held no sarcasm or annoyance. It was quiet and sounded sincere. Dean had to fight his own instincts though, reminding himself that she was a master of masks and deception. “I wasn’t prepared to answer questions about us. It was cruel to do that to you. I didn’t mean anything I said, just now. I lost my temper.”

“I don’t know what you want from me.”

“I don’t know either. I don’t think I’ve ever known anyone like you, Dean. Everyone I know is out to destroy me or own me. And I guess… I’m no better.” She paused, and Dean chanced a peek at her face. She was looking so sad, a little scared maybe. This was far from being the beast at the Polo Club. “I want to be better, do better. And I don’t know how to do that… without you.”

She turned her eyes to his and he could feel her confusion and vulnerability.

“If you’re playing me, Jo.”

“I’m not playing. I promise. Please, Dean. Stay the rest of the week.”

“Why? You said you didn’t want any drama. What the hell is this if it’s not drama?”

“This was my fault, not yours.” She hesitated, words caught in her throat and he frowned. “I saw you talking to Castiel. And I didn’t like it.”

“We were just talking. Are you going to get angry every time I talk to someone? Besides, why does it matter? I’m just an employee.”

Just then the elevator doors opened, and Adam stepped out, looking at them each in turn and then down at Dean’s bare feet. “We’re gonna need another minute, bro.” The elevator attendant looked up again, opened his mouth as though to protest, or ask a question, then thought better of it and stepped back into the elevator closing the doors.

“You’re a good guy, Dean. And I think, I could do a lot worse, than spend some time getting to know you. If you’ll let me.”

Dean shook his head. “We’re just going to end up right here again. You and I come from very different places. Too different.”

“Give me a chance.”

Dean looked at her and her big brown eyes and he simply did not know what to do. He should just walk away. She was trouble with a capital T. But something about the way she was looking at him. She wasn’t trying to force him to do what she wanted, she was asking him if he might want the same thing she wanted. He looked down and his eyes found the rose quartz necklace he had given her, and he knew. He wanted, more than anything, to believe that she was being honest. He wanted it to be real.

He nodded his head and made his way back into the penthouse, Joanna following closely behind. He draped the clothes he had gathered pell-mell over the back of the long sectional sofa, still unsure that he was doing the right thing.

He felt her arms wrap around his torso from behind and he closed his eyes, her physical comfort allowing him to relax as she leaned her head between his shoulder blades. He reached up and wrapped his hand around hers, holding her there while he breathed deeply. One moment slipped into the next one breath at a time and Dean could feel all those horrible feelings starting to creep back to their hidden corners. Then, she pressed her lips against his back, and he felt her warm breath through his shirt, and a little unease flickered dimly like an ember that refused to turn to ash. Her hands moved slowly up, and she began to pull apart the buttons, drawing back the panels of his shirt, exposing his bare skin beneath.

“Jo,” he said, feeling the unease glow a little brighter, but then she pulled the shirt off him gently and pressed herself against his bare skin, nuzzling his spine between kisses and he resigned himself to her obvious intentions. Her hands reached down, and she made quick work of his belt buckle and pants, slipping her hand down over his cock. It felt nice, sending small ripples of budding pleasure dancing through him, and as her hand began to massage him, he let out a shaky breath, his body responding to her touch.

With practiced ease, Dean pulled her hand out of his pants and turned around to face her. He picked her up and she wrapped her legs around his waist. Dean held her there, one arm supporting her hips and the other holding her close to his chest, his eyes level with her mouth. She was so close, her breath quick and warm, and his heart was pounding in his chest. It would be nothing to just lean forward and press his mouth to hers. To kiss her waiting lips. What harm could there be?

He closed his eyes and leaned forward just when she shifted to the side slightly and her lips wrapped around his earlobe, sending little jolts down his spine to his balls. He groaned and tightened his hold on her as he walked to the bedroom with her wrapped around him.

One knee on the bed, he tilted her back, letting her fall to the mattress and covered her with his body. He kissed and nuzzled her neck as he pressed his hardening cock against her pelvis, moving rhythmically, like lapping waves at a boat’s hull. Jo was wonderfully responsive, clinging to his shoulders, and pulling him against her with every roll of his hips, little sighs escaping her parted lips. He ran his hands down her body and pulled the fabric of her skirt, bunching it until he could get his hands against her skin, gripping and massaging her. He pushed the dress up higher, kissing the bare skin of her belly, exploring her with his mouth until the dress was up and over her head and gone.

Her hands were all over him, gripping his straining arms, sweeping along his back and shoulders, running up into his hair and tugging at it. Dean licked and kissed a path to her breasts and sucked a nipple into his mouth and she gasped, rolling her hips against him and tightening her hold on his hair. He swirled his tongue and nibbled with his teeth, while his hand cupped her other breast, running the pad of his thumb over the straining nipple.

Jo gasped again, and this time when she let go of his hair, she gripped his free hand and guided it down to where their bodies were pressed together. He removed her panties, wasting no time to come back and press into her again before covering her pussy with his hand. She moaned softly, turning her head to the side. Dean lowered his mouth to her breast again as he slipped first one finger and then another into her tight sheath. She writhed and thrust her hips against him forcing him deeper as she gasped again.

He suckled at her nipple and thrust his fingers in and out of her pussy and by the time he gently pressed his slicked thumb against her clit, she was primed and ready to give in to the bliss. She clung to him with everything she had as she gasped through her orgasm. He pressed his body down on hers, nuzzling her neck slowly, kissing her gently while she came down. Her breathing slowed and her hands unclenched, and Dean sighed into her neck.

He rolled to the side, laying back against the pillows, some of those feelings from before starting to crowd him again as he idly wondered if this had been her goal all along and if she was just using him. He chased the disappointment away reminding himself once again that this was his job, this was what he did. Jo rolled against him, pressing her naked body to his, interrupting his thoughts once more. She kissed his chest, and ran her hands all over him, gripping any skin she could like she was clutching at him. Dean rolled back towards her, ready to give her as many orgasms as she wanted, but she pushed back against his shoulder, pressing him back against the pillows.

“Tell me what you like, Dean. I want to make you feel the way you make me feel.” She sucked the skin on his neck and flicked his earlobe with her tongue. “I want to make you moan.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” he whispered into her hair as she made her way down his body, kissing his skin. Dean wasn’t sure where she was going with this, but he figured it was part of her pleasure, taking control.

She made her way to his waist and positioned herself to remove his pants and boxers, leaving him prone and naked. She crawled up between his legs from the foot of the bed, looking at him with her hungry eyes and Dean felt it twitch in his balls. She wrapped her hand around his growing erection and stroked him, her head hovering above his hips, still on all fours. The whole thing was so sensual it made him drop his head back on the pillows with a groan. He twisted his body away, and reached into the open drawer of the bedstand, pulling out his stash of flavoured condoms. He held up a red one and a milky white one to Jo who was continuing her slow ministrations.

“Cherry or vanilla?”

With a happy grin, Jo told him cherry and he deftly tore the wrapping and rolled the red condom over himself.

“It looks like a lewd lollypop.”

“How many licks to get to the center do you think?” he asked her, cocking his eyebrows and smiling.

She pouted her lips thoughtfully like she was considering his question, and then she lowered her head over him, slipping his wrapped cock into her mouth. It felt so warm and the vacuum pressure on his tip as she sucked in her cheeks sent a shock of pleasure through him. Well if she wanted him to moan… He let the mounting pleasure wash over him as he gasped and moaned for her benefit, encouraging her boldness, and she fondled his balls in her hand. God if he only had a plug, this would be perfect.

He caught her looking up at him and he locked stares with her, communicating again through a sigh just how much she was pleasing him. He would not come though, he knew that from experience. And it would not do to let his customer be disappointed. He’d had his fun, and now it was time to get back to work.

He reached down and tapped her leg with his hand. “Come up here,” he told her, and she looked a little confused as she pulled her mouth off him. She turned her body to the side and Dean pulled on her thigh again, drawing her up closer to him, and again until she had put her knees on either side of his head. He gave her ass a quick slap, and then reached beside him for his dental dams. Jo lowered her mouth onto him again and with the first few pulls on his cock, he pressed his mouth to her pussy and licked her through the thin latex.

She moaned around him, the vibrations stimulating his sensitive head and he thrust into her with his tongue. They stimulated each other, and soon her juices were flowing, and she was pressing her hips back, sitting on his face as he swirled and thrust and sucked and fucked her with his mouth.

“Oh God, Dean. Don’t! I’m gonna—”

“Just let go.”

She came again, her legs trembling as she dug the nails of one hand in his thigh, the sharp pain rippling pleasure through him again. He squeezed her thigh, massaging her sensitive inner leg. She stopped shaking and moved her legs so she could kneel beside him, her eyes drawn to his rock hard cock in its bright red condom.

“Do you want to fuck me?” she asked him all innocently, the question seemingly incongruous with the composed woman he had accompanied to a polo match that afternoon, and yet, there she sat, his cock in her hand, sweetly asking him if he wanted her. He absolutely did, but he was going to make sure she was begging for him before he took her.

He sat up and slipped his fingers into her hair, cupping her jaw. He pulled her towards him, forcing her to either fall on his chest, or swing her leg over his hips. She did the latter, straddling his waist and he rolled them, pushing against her pelvis with his hips while he laid kisses along her jaw, and neck, his hands stimulating every erogenous zone he could reach, hearing her gasp as she clung to him and he didn’t let up, didn’t let her get used to a certain touch before moving on to the next and coming back, keeping her arousal peaked and ready while he teased her.

When she began to swivel her hips, trying to control where his cock pressed against her, he knew she was primed and ready, but he wanted to hear her say it. Their bodies were already slicked with sweat from the heat of their skin pressing on skin.

“Do you want me, Joanna?”

“God, yes!”

“Say it,” he whispered into her ear.

“I want you, Dean!”

It was like someone had flipped a switch and he could feel the ripples of her voice go through him, vibrating, resonating and he thrust his cock into her, forgetting to be gentle or to take it slow. She cried out, softly and he hesitated, regaining his control a moment. “More!” she gasped.

It was all he needed to let go of his inhibitions and he hooked his arm around her leg, opening her up, and he pounded into her, her moans and gasps and cries of ecstasy filling his ears and he grunted into her neck from the effort, before sitting back on his heels and grabbing her hips, slamming into her faster, feeling the building pressure at the base of his spine.

He could feel himself ready to burst, that tightening in his balls and the warm zap like electricity building in his tailbone, and he licked his thumb before just barely pressing it on the nub at the top of her stretched lips. She writhed and moaned as his thrusts made his thumb rub against her and she squeezed her eyes closed. The mounting pleasure burst out and he released into the condom with a groan just as Jo started shaking loose for the third time. He kept up his rhythm until she was done, her eyes opening once more and staring at him in wonder.

“Holy shit.”

Dean smiled, wiping the sweat and stray strands of hair from his forehead. He pulled himself out carefully, holding onto the edges of the condom, then quickly removed it tying off the open end with a knot before rolling back to his side of the bed to toss it into the trash can. He rolled back onto his back, ready to nestle down into the soft pillows and pass out, but found Jo lying on her side, her head leaning on her palm and looking down at him.

He let out a tired chuckle and closed his eyes, “I’m gonna need a minute, babe, if you want to go again.”

“That’s not what I want.” She laid her hand on his chest and leaned her head down on his shoulder. He slipped his arm behind her and held her close, content to feel her pressed against his body, no timelines, no hours up, just… being.

“How did you get into this line of work?”

Dean groaned. “That is not a story worth hearing.” He took her hand and held it against his chest, looking down at her fingers.

Her lips pressed against the skin below his collarbone. “Does it have anything to do with this?”

He glanced to the side, seeing the edges of his tattoo as she kissed it again. With a laugh, he answered, “not really.” She was looking at him expectantly and Dean simply could not resist those big brown eyes. “I got into prostitution the same way everyone does, I guess; broke, starving and homeless. Trickster found me, took me in and showed me the ropes… let me share his corner.”

“How did you end up on the street?”

“Followed a deadbeat asshole from Kansas. Said we’d leave Lawrence behind and become movie stars. And I thought… why not, you know? Couldn’t be worse than where I was. My mom died when I was four. Fire. My dad is ex-military, so he raised his boys the only way he knew how. As long as my brother and me fell in line, things were fine. But… when I started showing tendencies to be… different. That’s when I knew that town had gotten too small for me. It still took me a few years before circumstances forced me to leave.”

He fell silent, pensive, as he remembered his brother’s engagement party. The house had been full of his brother’s friends and his father’s neighbours and buddies, and Dean had sequestered himself in the bathroom with one of the wait staff that had been hired to distribute appetizers and cocktails. Which is where his father found him: lips wrapped around the waiter’s cock.

“My dad told me he never wanted to see me again. And everywhere I turned, people were pushing me out. So, when this fuck boy from God knows where started talking Hollywood, I fucking high tailed it out of there. I figured a place like LA, would be better, you know? More people, none of that shit, small, backwards, farmers mentality bullshit.”

“And your plan was… movie star?”

“Hey! I did a stint on a soap opera I’ll have you know.”

“Really? As what?”

“As a prominent character’s long-lost, comatose son.”

“You got no lines.”

“I got no lines,” Dean started laughing, remembering the experience like a strange sort of dream. “Barely got a paycheck either. And no… the cinema thing was never really the plan. I like working on cars.”

“A mechanic?”

“More like restauration. I like taking something that people think is beyond saving and making it beautiful again, giving it a second life. My dad and my uncle taught me everything I know about cars: engines, bodywork, all of it.”

“So, you can do that, but you choose to be a prostitute?”

“Sometimes I don’t feel like I had a choice at all. This life chose me.”

“You know that’s horseshit, right? If you want something badly enough, you can make anything happen.”

“I tried,” he said, sounding pathetic as hell to his ears. “But it’s not easy getting into anything without street cred. And it’s not like I can just do this on my own: no parts, no tools.”

“So, you became a prostitute.”

“Trickster made it sound so great. Sex all night and raking in the dough. And by then I was desperate.” Dean drifted off again, lost in his thoughts.

“But… it wasn’t so great?”

Dean took a deep breath. “My first customer was this sadistic bitch called Lilith. She tied me up, tortured me. Fuck that safe word bullshit, she was just out for blood. Nearly landed me in the hospital, but who’s got enough money for that? So, Tricks nursed me back. And I went back out there. Started getting some regulars. And it wasn’t so bad after that.”

“You could be so much more, Dean.” She had said it so quietly, hushed, something shaky in her voice that he couldn’t quite put his finger on, but pulled at something deep inside him.

“People put you down enough, you start to believe it.”

“Wanna know what I think?”

Dean squeezed her closer, wrapping his other arm up to hold the side of her head as he kissed her forehead. “What do you think, sweetheart?”

“I think you’re very bright. And creative. And resourceful. You’re special, Dean. Meant for so much more than this. I bet you could save the world if you put your mind to it.”

He kissed the top of her head, closing his eyes tightly, breathing in the delicate smell of her shampoo. “The bad stuff is easier to believe. Ever notice that?”

He felt her nod against his cheek and her hand moved to his other shoulder, squeezing him tight. He was all talked out, and Joanna seemed to be done asking him questions. She rolled away from him and headed into the ensuite bathroom, closing the door behind her. Dean watched her leaving, enjoying the twitch of muscle in her perfect ass cheeks, but he was in a pensive mood, memories and musings and stray thoughts throwing themselves into the mix and all alone, wrapped in the hotel’s soft cotton sheets, his eyes refused to close, though he had been sleepy moments before.


	12. Thursday Night at the Opera

The quiet rustling of clothes woke Dean up and he blinked away the leftover sleep as he rolled onto his back. He spotted Jo standing by the open closet doors in her underwear as she looked through the selection of outfits. He smiled and stretched his back with a groan feeling like a fat cat on holiday.

“Get in here,” he said, opening his eyes again and flipping the blankets over.

Jo glanced back at him, her eyes lingering on his exposed body before turning back to the closet. “I have a meeting.”

“Mmmm. I’m thinking you’re going to be late.”

“I don’t think so.”

Dean slipped out of bed and came up behind her. He put his arms around her waist, bending down as he pulled her back against him, holding her tight.

“Dean—”

“Mmmmm,” he cut her off, nuzzling her neck and pressing his lips to her cool skin.

“Seriously, Dean, I don’t have ti—”

He took a few backwards steps, pulling her along with him until he was sitting on the edge of the bed, Jo sitting on his lap. He covered her neck in slow languid kisses as he cupped one of her covered breasts with his hand. Her weak protest was cut off by her own sigh as he slipped his other hand down into her panties.

“God, Jo. You’re already so wet.”

She sighed again, her hands on his thighs squeezing his muscles. He hooked his hand and pushed two fingers into her, feeling the press of her moist walls flutter and tighten around them. She shifted her hips, rubbing her ass up against his stiff cock, the feel of her silky soft panties against his skin sending little notes of pleasure through his loins like fire.

He pulled her tighter making her hips roll against him again as he moved his fingers in and out, rubbing against her sweet spot and making her twitch. Her breathing increased as she gasped and moaned rocking her head back to rest on his shoulder. He smoothed his hand up her outstretched neck and back down to her shoulder, her skin was so soft and cool. He kissed her shoulder and moved his fingers to swirl around her clit and she twitched against him again with a shuddering gasp.

“Dean,” she breathed into his ear.

He reached to his dwindling cache of condoms, sucking a bruise on the skin of her shoulder while he kept on stroking her. He carefully tore the wrapping with his teeth and pulled the condom from its casing. Reaching down between their bodies, he rolled the condom over himself. He pulled his fingers out of her panties and pulled her hips up, tilting her forward slightly. He pulled the fabric covering her aside and lined himself up with her. Jo’s hips pressed down on him right away, her eagerness exciting him as he thrust up inside her, the soft tightness around his cock drawing a groan from his throat. They moved against each other, Dean pulling her hips back roughly with every roll away. Their rhythm was natural, animal as they rut together roughly, moaning and gasping.

It was quick, and dirty, and so hot and when the tell-tale tingling in his tail bone combined with the tightening in his balls, Dean lightly pressed his fingertips against her clit again and she tensed in response, gasping loudly. She tightened around him and her nails dug into his knees. He squeezed his eyes shut and focused on the pleasure about to peak while he kept his fingers steady, letting their shifting hips press and stimulate her. And then he was coming, the rush of ecstasy going through him like electricity as he pulled her up against him, gasping against her hair. He stroked her in quick precise circles and the feel of her whole body tensing and squeezing him felt like it set him off all over again and he held her tightly as they both shook through their orgasms.

Slowly, their panting returned to more steady breathing, and Dean unwound his arms from her body as she rocked forward off his lap, his cock slipping out of her. She adjusted her underwear and he removed the full condom. When she headed back to the closet to finish getting dressed, he let himself fall backwards onto the mattress, stretching again, fully content.

He turned his head to the side and watched her slip on a long dark grey pencil skirt that covered her from just below her ribs to midway down her calves. She tucked a light blue blouse into the skirt then zipped it up in the back. He watched her getting dressed and every piece of clothing she put on he imagined himself removing so he could make love to her all over again.

“Do you have any plans today?” she asked him.

“Oh, I already did my plans.”

“Cute,” she said turning towards him and giving him a smile.

“This meeting this morning, is it with the Miltons?”

“Not quite. That’s happening tomorrow. This is just to finalize the last of the details. Loose ends and such. We have to make sure that they won’t be able to get out of this at the last minute. Slippery suckers.”

“Mmmmm… kinda like you.”

“Smart ass.”

Dean couldn’t contain is good mood and he laughed, pleasantly surprised by her quick, response and tender tone.

“Well, whatever you end up doing today, we’ve got plans tonight.”

“Sounds good. Any hints about what I should wear?”

“Definitely a black-tie occasion.”

Joanna gave him a wink and a smile that aimed an arrow straight at his heart and he felt the breath pushed out of him. She turned and walked out of the room, her hips sashaying alluringly almost making him hard again. With a groan he called out to her:

“I hate to see you go, baby, but I love to watch you leave!”

“You’re gonna clog your arteries with that much cheese,” she threw back his way over her shoulder.

Dean couldn’t help the laughter bubbling out of him and he chuckled merrily by himself even after Jo had left the suite, closing the door behind her.

Joanna sat at the same conference room table as earlier that week, staring at the same faces gathered around and ironing out the last of the details of the contract, reading over minor sections and adding legal fine print that would make their work so ironclad that Houdini himself wouldn’t be able to get out of it. It had been a long day, and more than once her mind had drifted back to the feel of Dean’s arms grasping her so tightly against his chest, constricting her breathing as they moved and writhed against each other like animals in heat. If she squeezed her crossed legs just right under the table, she could almost feel herself throbbing around his cock, planted so deeply inside, stretching her so deliciously.

“Joanna,” Zachariah said, drawing her out of her daydreams. She did not startle, nor blush, nor show any outward sign that she hadn’t been paying attention to everything going on around her. She merely tilted her head slightly and raised her eyebrows expectantly, as though his pause was wasting her time. “Are you going to want to review the contract before the meeting tomorrow?”

“I always do, so why do you ask?” she said, finding it hard to keep the steel edge out of her voice as her growing frustration with her head legal counsel’s condescension and barely hidden attempts to manipulate her was getting harder to conceal.

Zachariah’s lips pressed together in his usual tell when he was holding back some curt reply. For a moment, she almost thought he was going to go ahead and say what was on his mind, even in front of his associates. She was a little sad when he turned to Daniel instead to give him instructions. She so would’ve loved to sack him right there.

“Daniel, see that Melynda gets the amendments so she can type up the finalized contract.”

“No, Zach,” Joanna chimed in, as she stood up from the table and gathered her satchel. “This is too important. I don’t want to let anything fall through. You can finalize the report and send it to me by email.”

“Are you kiddi—”

“Tonight.”

The associates around the table were frozen, staring open mouthed at Zachariah who looked like he’d been sucker punched then slapped in the face. She had, after all, just asked the highest-ranking person on-site, other than her, to do something that normally his administrative assistant could do in a flash. They all averted their eyes when he looked around the room at them and his stunned look morphed into the beginnings of rage, the colour creeping up his neck even as he closed his eyes barely containing the swell of anger.

“Could you give us the room, guys?” Zach said, leaning his hands on the table.

“Don’t bother. I have to get going. Just send me the contract when it’s done.”

Joanna finished gathering her things and headed straight for the boardroom door to the quiet murmur of the whispering associates. Zachariah was right behind her though and he caught up to her as she reached the elevators.

“You can’t leave now, we’re in the home stretch here, Joanna.”

“Everything is well under control and the way I see it, as long as that contract isn’t finalized for me to review, I’m just twiddling my thumbs.”

“Twiddling your th— Be serious. I’m trying very hard to understand here. This isn’t like you. What could be so fucking important?”

“I have a date.”

“With the hooker?” Though he had whispered, the word rammed into her like a physical blow and she felt her whole body shift and move as she made herself as large and square and firm as she could, letting her eyes speak her cold fury.

“Careful, Zachariah,” she added to her silent show of her power and control and she watched the large man visibly shrink and shrivel.

Just then, the elevator cabin arrived, and she stepped into it, leaving behind Zachariah’s insubordination but finding it difficult to slough off the residual adrenaline from having to once again put him in his place. As the doors closed between them, she huffed through her nose trying to let go of the anger. How much energy had she wasted being angry with that asshole over the years? She found herself wondering about the actual importance of what she did. In the greater scheme of things, Dean was right… she didn’t make anything, all she did was destroy what others had spent time and energy on. Her thoughts turned back to Dean and she once again imagined she could feel his body pressing against hers as they pressed and pulled at each other, and she was overtaken by the intense desire to be wherever Dean was and just stay there. Her steps quickened as she headed for the town car that would bring her back to him.

The sound of a B-movie horror starlet scream greeted her as she walked in through the door. She walked to the edge of the sunken lounging area and spotted him stretched out on his back on the long sectional, throw pillows propping up his head and back, his arm casually slung back behind his head, an empty popcorn bowl on the ground beside him. His eyes were fixed on the large flat screen where the starlet in question was now running away from an axe wielding killer in grey overalls. Joanna drank him in: his arm muscles so nicely defined, the black cotton draped around his trim middle, the dark stubble on his face, his bare feet sticking out of his dark blue jeans. She felt the throb in her lower regions, and all she wanted in that moment was to sink slowly onto his erect cock and ride him hard. God, she was turning into a wanton sex kitten. Well, fuck if she didn’t care.

“Hey! I didn’t see you there.” He switched off the television with the press of a button on the remote and sat up, turning to look at her. “How was your day?”

Joanna blinked. In all the time she had come home to any of the men she had been involved with over the years, never had a single one asked her about her day. “It was good. Meetings mostly.”

“God, I don’t know how you do it. I would go insane if I had to sit around listening to suits talking all day long.”

“That’s the business,” she said with a shrug. “So, I need about half an hour to get ready, then we can get going.”

“Right! I’m good with that.”

Dean stood up and made his way up the two steps and before she knew what he was doing, he swept her up into his arms like she weighed nothing and carried her into the bedroom. She felt light, and giddy as she wrapped her arms around his sturdy neck and shoulders, her eyes locked onto his handsome face. Her eyes devoured the details of him, how the light caught in his green irises and made the colour vary from a dark olive to a light peridot, his lashes were so thick and long, framing them perfectly. She marvelled at the splash of boyish freckles across the bridge of his nose, and the square cut of his jaw. Finally, she focused on his plump lips just as the tip of his tongue darted out to moisten them, and she found herself wondering how they would feel pressed against her own. She ran her hand up the back of his head and through the slightly mussed hair sitting on top. She brought her face closer to his, and pressed her lips against his stubbled jaw, and again where his neck, jaw and ear intersected. He smelled like heaven; undertones of sandalwood and citrus and she found herself getting lost in the smell of him, like she was wrapped in his masculinity. She flicked his earlobe with her tongue and closed her lips around it, suckling him gently.

He didn’t put her down in the bedroom like she had begun to hope, prompted by her bedroom fantasies, instead when she felt him putting her back on her feet, it was to the sharp tap of her heels against hard tile. She opened her eyes and marvelled that he had brought her straight into the washroom.

“I think I have a bit of work left to do before we can head out,” he told her as he pulled open the glass door on the crystal-clear shower stall. He leaned in and started the water, testing the temperature with his hand quickly before coming back to where she was standing and turning her around roughly to face the mirror over the bathroom sink. She watched and felt as his hands roamed and groped and gripped her through her clothes, his face buried in her neck as she felt his teeth graze her skin. His skilled hands made quick work of her skirt, slip and shirt and soon she was wrapped in his arms dressed in nothing but her bra, underwear, and stilettos. His eyes kept peeking at her in the mirror as his hands massaged her breast and splayed across her abs.

“Fuck, Jo. You’re so goddamn sexy.”

His hand slipped under the waist band of her panties and suddenly everything was fire and ice and tingling butterflies as he petted and coaxed her already primed body. She gasped as the first of the giddy excitement wracked her body and his fingers pushed inside of her, stroking and drawing out pleasure like languid bolts of energy that grew in intensity the more he kept going. Her body jerked when a particularly strong shock of pleasure took her and she pressed herself back against him, feeling his firm erection through the coarse fabric of his jeans. And she wanted him. She was almost incapable of thinking of anything else as desire quickly swelled to desperation and her hips began to move against him of their own will, pressing into him as his fingers moved inside her, that full, giddy, twitching feeling growing and causing her to moan.

“God that’s hot,” he whispered in her ear and she opened her eyes to see his fixed on their reflection in the mirror. It was like something straight out of a porno. Her need to feel him inside pushing and stretching her came crashing into the cresting wave of pleasure and her own orgasm surprised her as wave after wave of warmth radiated out from her core and made her knees weak.

But it wasn’t enough. She wanted more, she wanted him. She wanted to feel him pounding into her, the sound of their skin slapping loud in her ears, his fingers digging into her hips, and she wanted it, now.

She turned around and made quick work of stripping him out of his clothes and he stood in front of her in the glaring bathroom light, no trace of embarrassment as he held himself proudly, his cock at attention and ready to perform. She wrapped her hand around it, marvelling at his girth and hardness as she massaged and stroked him. He pushed her back against the counter, pressing his hips against her, one knee wedged between hers pushing her legs apart. And suddenly her panties were gone, and his cock was wrapped in latex and she felt the first throbbing, yield of her sex as he drove into her roughly. He adjusted their position raising her hips to sit her back on the edge of the counter, pulling her knees up to his waist as he drove into her repeatedly with focused intensity. In her heightened state, she could see every detail of him as he assaulted her with bliss inducing thrusts: the gleam of sweat starting to cover his bare shoulders and face, the crows feet at the corners of his eyes squeezed tightly, and again, that splash of freckles somehow making all of this so obscenely perfect and hot and—

“Oh God, Dean!” she cried out, digging her nails into his shoulders, clinging for dear life as the tsunami of ecstasy overtook her again and her whole body tensed and squeezed around him.

As the wave subsided, leaving her feeling heavy with post bliss satisfaction, she loosened her grip and opened her eyes, to find his face bare inches from hers, a look she could not describe all over his features; a mixture of wonder and desire and maybe a note of uncertainty. He leaned in ever closer, eyelids covering hazy irises and her breath caught in her throat as she waited for the press of those lips that never came. She felt him shift and his mouth came down on her neck, while his hands slowly smoothed down her arms, her back, her waist, her chest, his palms covering her breasts and kneading them gently.

Every part of her felt heavy, and sensual, and she wanted more than anything to make that feeling last forever. When he pulled her forward off the counter, she let him lead her into the shower, wondering once more how and when she had been stripped completely. The warmth wrapped her, and it was impossible to tell whether it was from the water running down her skin or more of Dean’s ministrations – and she didn’t care. She let him do, whatever it was he was doing because it just felt so good. It was like being showered by careful attentions and warm fuzzy feelings and well-being.

With kisses in her neck and a slippery, wet hug from behind, he declared her clean and ready for clothes. She mentally disagreed with his verdict, wishing only to continue to be wrapped in his warmth, but she also knew that they would have to leave soon if they wanted to not be late. With a soft sigh, she pulled away from him and stepped out of the shower. Dean stayed behind, and she indulged in watching the water stream down his body as she dried herself with a towel and wrapped her damp hair. She made her way back out of the washroom and into the main bedroom so she could get dressed, leaving Dean to his own ablutions her last glimpse of him staying with her like a snapshot in her mind: hands pressed against the shower wall, legs braced apart, head under the shower head, the muscles in his broad shoulders flexing and twitching under the pearled droplets, eyes closed, lips parted, and hair plastered to his head.

Dean crossed Jo as he came out of the bathroom a short while later, a towel wrapped low around his hips, his hair dried and styled. He had decided to part it a little to the side, instead of combing it towards the front and up like the barber had done when she had lopped off his messy waves, and he liked how sophisticated it looked. He thought he looked like those Gucci model motherfuckers with their perfect style as they showed off fancy suits or watches or cologne.

He pulled the classic black and white tux out of the closet and stared at the different pieces of it laid out on the bed. He quickly got dressed, tucking in what needed to be tucked, and buttoning what needed to be buttoned. He hooked the suspenders in the proper places to hold up the perfectly fitted pants, then he slipped on the black jacket and tied the middle button, turning his shoulders this way and that as he looked in the room’s full-length mirror to see the full effect of this new and sophisticated Dean Winchester. He felt so out of place; whose reflection was this?

“Shoulda gotten a damn clip on,” he mumbled as he struggled to tie the bowtie, unable to get it to look like anything but a lopsided flop.

“Let me.”

Dean turned around to see Joanna coming out of the washroom fully dressed in a strapless midnight blue evening gown that sparkled with thousands of specks of glittering chips. It clung to her chest and waist and flared slightly at her hips. The fabric flowed and shifted perfectly as she moved, the hem above her knees at the front and sweeping back behind her down to the floor. She had left her hair down, the golden blonde curled and bobbed perfectly, the length sweeping her shoulders lightly. She was so absolutely stunning and feminine and perfect wrapped in her gown of stardust.

“You are so beautiful, Jo.”

“You don’t look so bad yourself, Dean.”

She came to stand just in front of him, turning him away from the mirror and towards her so she could fuss and fix his bow tie. A pull here and a tuck there and somehow what he simply could not get the damn thing to do before, was perfect and straight. He turned to look in the mirror again.

“I feel ridiculous,” he admitted to her, feeling vulnerable letting down his usual mask of easy-going indifference.

“Well, I guarantee you don’t look ridiculous. I almost want to strip you out of that pretty wrapper and eat you up.”

Dean crossed his arms over his chest, feigning awkward discomfort. “Don’t objectify me,” he told her, while deep down he felt valued and wanted in a way that appreciative stares from clients on the street never quite made him feel. With them, it felt like he was nothing more than a piece of meat on display in the butcher’s window, but something about Jo made him think that maybe, he meant more to her than that.

The delicate tinkling sound of her laugh made him feel all warm on the inside and as she moved off towards the dresser in the corner, he turned around to look at the mirror and adjust the kerchief in his breast pocket. When Jo walked back towards him, she was all decked out in simple earrings and a necklace that looked like metal had melted into the shape of tear drops right from the tips of the chains. It was the perfect touch to finish her outfit, the pendant resting perfectly just above the swell of her breasts. She had a blue velour box in her hands and though the size was wrong, Dean couldn’t help the stray thought that she was about to pop the question.

When she pulled back the lid though, it was to reveal a black watch. It looked like something out of a spy movie, so sleek and subtle, a matte finish on the metal casing and the smooth bracelet. The hands and lines were charcoal on black and matched perfectly with the casing. If he had been in any doubt about the quality and worth of the piece of wearable art, the word BVLGARI etched into the black watch face laid them to rest.

“Jo, that’s too much.”

“Shut up and let me spoil you.”

She took the watch out of the case and held it out towards him. Dean presented his wrist to her and she wrapped the band around it, clipping it in place. In a wave of sudden affection, he wrapped one arm around her waist and pulled her up against him, kissing her forehead. “Thank you.” After a moment he added, “I’m sorry, I didn’t get you anything.”

“You’ve given me so much more than you realize, clearly.”

Dean stared at her, aware again of that strange, hair-raising sense of inevitability he’d had earlier as they had caught their breath post sex in the bathroom. It was like this hyper-sensitivity that made him crave something he hadn’t craved so desperately in a long time. He reminded himself again that no matter the strange signals his brain was sending him and no matter how much he enjoyed her, Jo was just a customer, and to her, he was just an employee she had hired to make her business week easier. Nothing more. The moment passed and the feeling subsided again, and he could breathe.

“We need to get going or we’re going to be late,” she said, turning away from him and walking over to the closet to slip on a pair of strappy dark blue stiletto sandals.

“Where are you taking me, anyways?”

“It’s a surprise,” she answered with a smile.

Together they headed down to the hotel lobby, and Dean could not look away from her, going from openly staring to looking away but glancing back constantly. They stepped out of the elevator and the evening crowd of people moving through the lobby turned as one and stared right at him. Or that’s what it felt like as he caught glances and open stares from the patrons of the Beverly Wilshire. He was suddenly very self-conscious again, and he found himself tugging at his sleeve cuffs trying to conceal what felt like a huge target on his wrist. Jo slipped her hand between his arm and chest, holding him just above the elbow as she whispered: “Do you see them, Dean? You’re one of the pretty, shiny people. There’s not a man here who doesn’t want to be you right now.”

Dean caught their reflection in one of the mirrored surfaces of the lobby and there was no disgraced, street walking, bargain cocksucker looking back, only the epitome of class and sophistication; he had turned into James Bond after all. A rush of prideful excitement went through him and he straightened his shoulders and bent his elbow where she was holding him. He turned his head and just caught the hotel manager stopped mid-conversation and following his and Jo’s progress through the lobby and out the main doors. The older man raised his finger to an invisible hat brim as a reminder of how he had first seen Dean and an acknowledgement of the world’s difference with what he was now.

Then they were out the doors and sitting in the town car that took Joanna everywhere, the driver always ready for her like he knew in advance exactly when she would need him. The man gave him a little knowing smile and nod as Dean held Jo’s hand to steady her graceful climb into the car. Alone together once again in the dark interior, Dean and Jo talked quietly of nothing important, he told her of his own day’s ventures to pay his rent and his fruitless visit home looking to check up on Trickster, but not seeing him. He had left him a message at the club to call him at the hotel, but Dean was worried.

He had trailed off, convinced that the beautiful woman by his side didn’t want to hear about his drug addict roommate, but she had squeezed his hand in hers and given him a sympathetic smile, reassuring him with a quiet, “I’m sure he’ll be OK. He’ll get in touch.”

He barely had time to marvel at the private airport and small business jet and its luxurious insides as they quickly embarked and took off. Dean’s curiosity was definitely piqued as they descended just outside San Francisco, the sight of the Golden Gate Bridge unmistakable though he had never been there before. Another town car ride and finally they reached their destination. Dean helped Jo out of the car and hooked her arm in his as they went up the steps of the San Francisco Opera House, the large stone building’s arched windows brightly illuminated against the night sky. The lobby was empty, and Dean worried they were late, but Jo reassured him that these things never started on time. An usher greeted Joanna by name and guided them through the vaulted hallways and curtained passageways until he finally opened the door to a dimly lit anteroom, plush velvet curtain in front of them. The usher closed the door and they were plunged in darkness as the sound of instruments checking their tuning filled the room with echoing loudness that made his heart skip strangely.

When Jo prompted him quietly, he pulled back the heavy curtain so they could get to their seats. The sight of the full opera house greeted him as they approached the edge of the box seats that looked like they were right above the side of the stage. The instruments primed and ready, a hush fell in the large open cavern-like space as audience held their words in quiet expectation of what would come next. Then the music began, the sound of it driving into him and taking him away on a voyage of dreams and ecstasy as the lead male sang out into the room in a quiet whisper that rose to loud as thunder: “ Babe, baby, baby, I’m gonna leave you. I said baby, you know I’m gonna leave you.”

The music drove a stake of longing through his stomach as he let the feel of the words transport him to a world where nothing else existed but that music and those words. It was visceral.

By the time the music dwindled, the last notes of D’yer Maker fading into the echoing cacophony of the house in full standing ovation, Dean had to wipe at his eyes, to make sure the mist of his emotions hadn’t run down his cheeks. The suddenly bright house lights startled him and when he turned to his left, it was to see Jo smiling at him sweetly.

It was a haze of magical dreamland-ish atmosphere that accompanied them back to LA. After some encouraging prompting and prodding, she let him talk about cars and his favourite models of the classics as he got all wrapped up in describing chrome accents and grills and fender shapes. She watched him, an indecipherable look of content attention on her face, an occasional smile or chuckle showing through as he got more passionate about a topic he loved deeply.

Though it was late when they finally made it back to the hotel room, having stopped at the Jack in the Box outside Van Nuys, much to Jo’s skeptic lack of enthusiasm, but winning her over with the claim that it was THE place for burgers and tacos, Dean felt charged and couldn’t imagine going to bed in that moment. All he wanted was to stretch the perfect night on and on until forever, becoming more and more aware that his week of dreamland wonder was quickly drawing to and end. Perhaps Jo felt the same way, because this time when he asked if she wanted to just hang out with him and watch a movie, though she hesitated, looking towards where her laptop was sitting closed on her work table, she did accept. So, dressed in all their night-at-the-opera finery, Dean sat back on the couch and Jo sat against him, tucked into his side as the TV washed them in glowing blue light.


	13. What's Your Dream?

The dark screen dimmed the lighting in the hotel penthouse as credits scrolled up announcing the end of the movie. Slowly, Dean pulled out of the torpor that had settled on him the more he had gotten sucked into the easy dreaming of the movie. He stretched his body reflexively, careful not to disturb Jo who seemed to have fallen asleep against his chest, her head angled upwards as though she had been watching him before falling sleep. Her eyes were closed and her mouth relaxed as she slowly breathed in and out.

The air around Dean suddenly felt charged, his hair standing on end all over his body the longer he looked at her. He could feel his heartrate increasing, though the quiet calm of the sitting room didn’t warrant it. He lifted a hand that felt heavy like lead and ran his thumb slowly down her jaw. He slipped his fingers into her hair as he cupped her face with his palm and angled her head back slightly. She started shifting as he pressed his lips against her forehead, his insides like Jell-o, and when he pulled back, he was locked in place by Jo’s open eyes. He was getting lost in her all over again. Ever since their argument, it was like they had moved that much closer to a precipice, and when he looked at her now, and she looked back at him so intensely, he felt like he was inches away from tumbling head first into the void.

“What are you thinking?” she asked him in a hushed voice.

“I’m thinking—” A thick veil was cutting him off from the thinking part of his brain and he found that he really wasn’t sure what his thoughts were up to. His body was another story. His stomach flipped as he leaned down and the pang of yearning was so intense that a single clear idea made it out of the veil. “I think, I’d really like to kiss you, right now.”

Jo blinked her big brown eyes once slowly. “Isn’t that against the rules?” she asked him huskily, her own hand drifting up to hold the side of his face.

“Yes,” Dean swallowed hard, closing his eyes trying to control the chaos that was coming loose inside him.

“Maybe, in that case, I should kiss you so I can be the rule breaker.” Her lips brushed against his tentatively as she held her position, their breath mingling as they froze in time, not quite touching, and not quite apart.

With a twist in his gut, Dean squeezed his eyes. “Please, don’t,” he breathed out, doing his best to hold back the keening he could feel bubbling in his tight chest. “If you’re just going to leave, if this means nothing to you… please don’t.”

“What do you want, Dean?”

“You, Jo. I just want you. Always.”

“You have me.”

No orgasm, no roller coaster, no nick of a blade could equal the rush of adrenaline that coursed through his veins as he closed the gap between them and pressed his lips against hers. Passion was quick to flare and meld with the blissful relief and Jo’s arms wrapped around his neck holding onto him tightly as he kissed her over and over, his mouth slanting and pressing against hers, his arms holding her tightly even as he leaned forward, arcing her backwards. He devoured her mouth, and she returned his passion tenfold, like he had been starving her all this time. He never wanted to stop kissing her. He pressed his face to hers and held her tightly in his arms, pulling her up into his lap in his overwhelming need to have her as close as possible, to have her seep inside him, to have her settle like a kitten by the fire roaring in his heart.

His palms smoothed along the soft skin of her bare shoulders and his fingers found the delicate clasp and zipper and he pulled the tab down, his hand smoothing over every newly exposed inch of skin. Jo’s hands moved from behind his neck to his chest and she nimbly undid each of the clear buttons on his shirt, not sparing a look for what she was doing, her lips continuing to meet his, their tongues joining the fray. Everything was tongues and lips and teeth while their bodies ran on automatic to strip each other down and soon it was flesh pressing against flesh in Dean’s lap. Instinct and practice and forethought collided, and Dean managed to slip on a condom before Jo wrapped her legs around his waist and pressed her slick sex against his cock. She writhed against him and moaned into his mouth.

“I can’t get enough of you. You’re like a drug and I never want to go without.”

Dean shifted his hips, lifting Jo just enough to reposition her to wrap himself in her tight heat. They gasped and moaned and writhed, clinging to each other as the hunger for one another increased with every press of their lips and every roll of their hips. Dean shifted, laying Jo on her back against the sofa’s cushions so he could push himself deeper, following the demands of his body and heart. If their lips left each other to stray to a sensitive neck, or earlobe, or to take a panting breath, it was never for long as they were pulled back together like magnets. He lost track of what was happening and of time moving, there was nothing but Jo and the sight, taste, sound and feel of her, his body running on instincts so deep it didn’t need his head to guide it.

Dean was shaking long before his orgasm buzzed through him and he pierced through the veil of intense passion long enough to make sure Jo came too. She was holding onto him so tightly and he wrapped his arms under her to hold her tight against his chest as he pressed her into the soft cushions. Interminably slowly, Jo’s iron grip loosened, and Dean felt his own body relax and he settled his head above the swell of her breast, his ear pressed against the pounding of her heart. He relished the feel of her fingers running through his short hair, her nails massaging his scalp. He could feel the exhaustion in his heavy limbs and fuzzy mind, and he fought against the pull of sleep, part of him convinced that this was all a dream and he would be waking up soon.

She kissed his forehead and he smiled at the tenderness. “Let’s go to bed, Dean.”

“Don’t you have work to do?” he asked lifting himself from his comfortable spot to look at her.

“It can wait. All I want right now is more of this.”

With her hand on his cheek, she half-pulled, half-guided him back to her face and he kissed her again, long and slow and deep. They eventually managed to extricate themselves from the sofa and made it back to the bedroom hand-in-hand where they fell into the soft mattress and made love again slowly before finally falling asleep wrapped in each other.

The sun was streaming in through the large windows in a way that was becoming increasingly familiar to Dean as he made his way to the dining table where Jo was reading something on her laptop, a steaming cup of coffee beside her. Dean leaned down, capturing her mouth with his in a gesture he’d rarely had the opportunity to do in his life, but came so naturally in that moment. It felt like a weight had been lifted from his heart and he was free to do exactly what his instincts told him to.

“Good morning,” he said as he pulled away and sat down to her right at the table.

“Did you sleep well?” she asked him, and Dean chuckled remembering the awkwardness of their first morning after together.

“I slept like the dead. How ‘bout you?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever slept better.”

She gave him a quick smile but turned back to her computer screen. Her posture was stiff; something was bothering her, he could tell.

“Is that the Milton deal?”

“Yeah,” she sighed, the set of her mouth betraying her stress.

“What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know what I want anymore, Dean.”

“For the Miltons?”

“For everything,” she said glancing away from the screen a moment to dart her anxious eyes at him. “After this deal is signed, I’m going back to New York.”

“Oh.” Dean’s stomach did a weird twist flip that felt like everything inside was being squeezed. The week was up, he reminded himself. “What about last night?” he asked her, starting to feel like maybe he was more of a chump than he had thought.

“Dean, I want to see you again.” Hope fluttered in his chest a moment before it was crushed to a crumpled mess. “I have it all set up for you. I got you a nice condo. The neighbourhood is a little industrial, but it’s right above an old garage. You’ll have everything you need: money for food, clothes, anything. I thought maybe you could work on that dream of yours.”

“And what? Whenever you come to town you have your pre-paid whore to scratch your itch?” He was angry. And ashamed. He felt used.

“What—"

“You just want to make me another piece of your collection, right? Your personal fuck boy… at least until you get bored with me.” He was hurt.

“What the fuck do you expect from me, Dean?”

“Everything!” he found himself nearly shouting his frustration and embarrassment and the desire in his heart that he had finally allowed himself to recognize. “I want to wake up every day beside you, and make love to you, and just fucking be with you, Jo.”

“Why?” she asked, her tone very cold, robotic. “For my money?”

It suddenly dawned on him that she was protecting herself. She had retreated to her business demeanour because that’s where she was safe from feeling. Well he wasn’t one to play it safe with his emotions. He was all in and ready to put his cards on the table.

“You really think that all I care about is money? If that’s all I wanted, I would just take you up on the offer. A country bum like me can do a fuckload worse than have a sugar mama. But, Jo.” Dean stood up from his chair and crouched down beside her, looking up into her protective mask, her features in perfect place to imitate calm indifference. He had seen the same mask when she had been attacked at dinner by Anna Milton and again at the polo match. “I care about you. I’m a better person when I’m with you. My life means something when I’m with you. You do that.”

“No. You do that, Dean… not me. I destroy things.”

“That’s just the lie you let yourself believe. Without you, I’m nothing but a man-whore. You treat me like what I have to say matters. I’m someone worthwhile when I’m with you. You see me.” He paused, watching her face as it flickered through emotions in quick succession, the mask wavering. “And I see you, Joanna Harvelle. And you are all I want. I want to be with you every day, and make you smile and laugh and come so hard you scream my name.”

“Yes, Dean! Yes!” she cried out breathlessly as she threw herself into his arms, their lips pressing together as he stood up, holding her tightly against his chest.

He pushed up her skirt as she wrapped her legs around his hips and he thrust up into her right there standing in the middle of the penthouse suite and she cried out his name in ecstasy. With a sweep of his arm, he knocked everything off the table, and he thrust into her again as he fucked her—

“STOP!”

Dean stopped talking and froze in the middle of sweeping his incorporeal arm through the oblivious objects on the tidy little dining room table. He turned his eyes towards the reaper standing to the side with her arms crossed and a deep frown on her face. She had long black hair and wore a brown suede jacket over a lavender shirt and blue jeans.

Cole’s mom, an exhausted looking forty-something woman with long loose curls tumbling over her shoulder walked into the room holding the edges of her knee length cardigan closed. She reached for her purse and walked out the door like there wasn’t a hunter talking to a reaper in her dining room, like they were no more than shadows in a dark room. Dean watched her walk through his conversation with Tessa then kept going like there had been no interruption.

“But, I was just getting to the good part.” The reaper raised a skeptical eyebrow at him. “No really! There’s this great part where Castiel and me get together and I’m going full reverse cowboy on his—"

“Enough, Dean! I asked you what your dream is and all you have to tell me is this… pornographic work of fiction?”

Dean shrugged. “My head, my dream.”

“Dean,” Sam said coming around the corner of the dining room with a dark-haired boy following behind him. “We’re all good.”

Dean turned back towards Tessa swinging his arms and slowly taking a step back. “And on that note, we make our exit stage left.”

Tessa looked from brother to brother stopping to look over the boy before going back to addressing Dean. “What are you doing, Dean?”

“Oh! I thought that was obvious now. I was distracting you while Sam got done with ghost boy there. He’s all yours, sweetheart.”

The lights began to flicker wildly as a dark look erased all traces of Tessa’s previous indulgence. “I don’t know what game you’re playing, but you don’t just screw with a reaper.”

Through the static flicker of the lights, a voice swelled and echoed around them like a chant carried on the wind and amplified through pipes. “Animum vult decipiergo—”

“That’s our ride. Sorry we can’t stick around.”

“A word of advice, Dean, before you go. Stop lying to yourself. Figure out what it is you actually want, because that angel on your shoulder? You know, deep down, that’s part of something nasty, and it’s headed right for you. Trust your instincts. There’s no such thing as miracles.”

“— vis vis vis,” finished the voice and suddenly he was being pulled like a rubber band snapping back in place and he sat up suddenly, his body jackknifing from the tension.

Sam’s hand came down on his shoulder and the weight of it was a comfort, a quick validation that he was out of the spirit world and back in his own body. “Hey man, you good?” his brother asked him, thankfully sparing him the puppy dog eyes.

“Other than the mother of all headaches, yeah, I’m great.”

“We have to get going.”

“Yeah.”

Dean got up from the bed and shook out the last of the ringing in his ears pondering the words of the reaper as they bounced around his thoughts and threw all his previous tentative hope into doubt. As he gathered the supplies from around the room and jammed them into his bag, Pamela sidled up to him, sunglasses poised on the bridge of her nose concealing her glass eyes.

“So,” she said, a quirky smile tugging at her lips. “Pretty Woman?”

“What?” he reacted, his back going ramrod straight and his eyes looking everywhere but at the sunglasses throwing his reflection back at him.

“Do you seriously think you got me fooled? Maybe that reaper knows bupkes about chick flicks, but I do.”

“Uh…” Dean stalled, scouring for a legitimate excuse to give her. “It was playing on TV, like forever ago.” One of Pamela’s perfect eyebrows arched above the edge of her glasses and she crossed her arms. “Oh! Come on! Fine, I’ve seen it a few times. Julia Roberts is hot. I just needed a story to tell Tessa so she wouldn’t send me to the afterlife.”

“Whatever you say to keep yourself sane, sweetness. It’s kinda stupid to lie to a psychic, FYI.”

Dean stammered, but Pamela interrupted his racing concerns about the secrets that he kept with a firm slap to his ass that left his cheek stinging sweetly. “Don’t worry, sugar. I know when to keep things to myself.”

She lowered her sunglasses, exposing the milky whites of her glass eyes before giving him a conspiratorial wink.


End file.
